The Project Gutenberg eBook, Jack Straw, Lighthouse Builder, by Irving Crump, Illustrated by Leslie Crump

JACK STRAW,
LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER

“[Jack and Big O’Brien were the first to ride down to the lighthouse site on the aerial cable.]”

JACK STRAW,
LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER

By
IRVING CRUMP
Author of “Jack Straw in Mexico,” etc.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY
LESLIE CRUMP

NEW YORK
ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY
1915

Copyright, 1915, by
Robert M. McBride & Co.

Published October, 1915

To
A Tom-Boy
PEGGY

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

In presenting this account of Jack Straw’s latest adventures it has been my good fortune to have the friendly advice of Dr. Raymond Haskell, Superintendent of the Third Light House District, and William H. Moon of the Lighthouse Service. I have also sought for assistance the pages of Commissioner George R. Putnam’s “Beacons of the Sea,” Talbot’s “Light Ships and Lighthouses” and the “Lighthouse Service Bulletin.”

J. I. C.

East Orange,
September, 1915.

CONTENTS

THE ILLUSTRATIONS

JACK STRAW,
LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER

JACK STRAW,
LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER

CHAPTER I
JACK RECEIVES A TELEGRAM

Jack Straw was walking slowly down the maple-lined avenue that led from the campus to Phillip’s Hall, the largest of the two dormitory buildings connected with Drueryville Academy, and judging from his many near collisions with the aforesaid maples, not to mention hitching posts, stepping blocks and pedestrians, it was evident that he was not looking where he was going. Indeed his nose was buried in the latest and final edition of The Blue and White, the school’s weekly, and he was devouring the contents of the page headed “Track and Field” eagerly. The various individual and team records for the year were set forth there in black-face type, and Jack, having been captain of the football team the previous Fall and no mean performer on the school’s track team during the Spring, was rather keen to learn just how many times his name was mentioned on that particular page.

But before he had consumed a quarter of the reading matter, a real collision resulted. He was just about to turn the northwest corner of Phillip’s Hall when there was a scurry of feet, and before he could look up some one hurrying at top speed swept around the corner. Instantly the air was full of arms and legs, the copy of The Blue and White accompanied by several school books, went speeding down the graveled path and a moment later Jack found himself seated on the ground and feeling for the exact spot on the back of his head where the west wall of the dormitory building had hit him. Six feet away sat tiny Tommy Todd, also feeling for injured places and trying at the same time to regain his breath.

“Jiminy—puff—puff—crickets, what’er you gettin’ into a fellow’s—puff—puff—way like that for, Jack?” demanded Tommy.

“Well, how on earth— Say, why don’t you blow your horn when you are making a corner at top speed? I didn’t know you were coming,” returned Jack, scrutinizing the brick wall for dents. “Jiminy, I think if I had hit just a little harder, Phillip’s Hall would be minus a few bricks.”

“Huh, that’s nothing to the amount of gravel I’ll be carrying round with me for the rest of my life. Bet there is a peck of it jammed into my head,” returned Tommy, rubbing his head solicitously.

“Well, why the hurry, anyway, Tommy?” asked Jack, as they stood up and began to brush themselves off.

“Why, I was looking for you, Jack—I—”

“Found me quicker than you expected, didn’t you?”

“Yes and no; that is, when I discovered you weren’t in your room I decided you might bob up most any place—and you did—”

“Well, what’s wanted of me in such a hurry?” demanded Jack.

“What is wanted? Oh, nothing, only there are about a half dozen fellows over in your room waiting for you. Did you forget that there was a special meeting of the ‘D’ Club called for this afternoon? The meeting is in your room at three o’clock, you know.”

“No, I hadn’t forgotten only—say, it isn’t three o’clock yet, is it?” asked Jack, somewhat surprised.

“Oh, isn’t it?” demanded Tommy, as he exhibited his watch.

“Jingo-netties, it’s half-past three. I was so interested in The Blue and White that I forgot to hurry. Come on back, Tommy, and we’ll have the meeting started immediately,” said Jack, and seizing the diminutive catcher of the baseball team by the arm, he hurried him at top speed back toward the broad entrance of Phillip’s Hall.

Seven members of the “D” Club, the organization composed of honor boys at Drueryville Academy, were occupying Jack’s room when he pushed open the door.

“Well, good evenin’, sir; did you call to tea?” demanded Harvey Maston sarcastically as Jack entered.

“Why didn’t you keep us waiting until midnight?” called Cory, as he put down the book he had been reading.

“What’s the matter—fall asleep in the physics lab?” demanded Buck Miles.

“No, fellows, I plum forgot what time it—Hi, quit.”

“O-o-o-o-o-h, forgot,” roared every boy, and a moment later Jack was busy ducking sofa pillows that were being hurled in his direction.

“Well, now that you have subsided,” said Jack when the lads were out of ammunition, “the meeting will come to order.” He rapped on the top of the center table with his knuckles for lack of a gavel and assumed an air of dignity befitting the president of the school’s most important society.

“As I understand it,” he said, “this is to be a special meeting for a general summing up of the athletic situation at Drueryville next year. Am I right?”

“Right-o,” said Tommy Todd.

“Well, gentlemen, we will proceed. First, the baseball situation claims our attention. Tommy, how are things going to shape up next year with your outfit?”

“The outlook never was better,” said Tommy, cheerily. “Out of the nine regulars on this year’s team, only two will be graduated and they are both outfielders. I’ve men in the substitute squad that will take their places all right.”

“Fine,” said Jack. “How about the track team, Harvey?”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” said the captain of the cinder athletes. “The outlook could be better. Graduation isn’t going to knock a hole into my list of runners, but I do wish that the freshmen who come in next Fall would include a couple of good sprinters. We need a good point winner for the dashes. Also we need a shot putter. Hanson goes out this year, as you know. He’s been our only hope in the weight events for two years now. Wish I could find another 170-pound sixteen-year-old like him.”

“Huh, if he knocks a hole into your prospects, think how he cripples me up,” said Jack, who had been reelected to captain the football team next year. “He’s been the only full-back Drueryville has had in years. I don’t know where I’m going to get a man like him. There isn’t a fellow in the scrub squad that can play in the full-back position and not stumble over his own feet. The freshmen will surely have to show up mighty well in big boys to make me feel happy next year.”

“Jiminy, that does put a kink into your eleven, doesn’t it?” exclaimed Tommy Todd.

“‘A kink?’ Why, man, it ties a regular knot into our chances for the championship trophy, let me tell you. We’ll never be able to make it three in a row with Seaton without another Hanson in the line-up,” insisted Jack.

“Aw, cheer up. Don’t be so down in the mouth about it. Perhaps we can find one for you this Summer. I’ll look for one among the stone cutters down Bethel way, when I take my job in the granite quarries this vacation,” said Cory, who was eager to have the meeting over with so that he could resume the book he had been reading.

“Huh, you needn’t bother,” said Jack; “the full-back you’d pick out would come onto the field with a fiction book under his arm. Well, Dink, how’s the hockey team going to shape up?”

“Oh, we’ll be there with an A1 team next year. Every man in the line-up. Pretty good, eh?”

“Well, I’m in the same shape. The basketball team will be composed of four of this year’s regulars and Wefers, who played substitute forward all this year. I’m not worrying,” said Cory gruffly, without even looking up from his book.

“That leaves me the only captain in want of a good man, doesn’t it?” said Jack. “Well, you fellows take Cory’s suggestion and keep your eyes open during the Summer for a likely full-back for me, will you?”

“You bet we will. I’m going to spend my Summer working in a hotel over in the Green Mountains. I may run into a good man there, you can’t tell,” said Chris Gibson.

“That reminds me, Tommy,” said Harvey Maston. “Did you accept that job with the contractor? You said you were going to work all Summer on the new hydro-electric plant over in New York State.”

“Yes, I go over there the first of July for two months. What are you going to do, Harvey?”

“Going to work for my father in his paper mill. There’s room for another fellow over there. How about you, Jack? Got a Summer job yet?”

“No,” confessed Jack, “I haven’t. I thought perhaps I might help out father in his marble quarries. But I guess he won’t be ready to open ’em up for three or four months.”

“Well, why not come over to Bordentown and work in the paper mills? We could have a corking time together and you would learn a lot about paper manufacturing. Of course if you can get a chance to go to Mexico again, or something as interesting as that, I wouldn’t advise you to accept my offer. A paper mill isn’t as lively as a power plant besieged by rebels, but then a job is a job, you know.”

“Well, perhaps I might accept your offer, Harvey. I’ll think it over. You see, I—”

“Mis-ter John-n-n Monroe-e-e Strawbridge! Strawbridge!” shouted some one down in the street.

Jack’s head bobbed out of the open window immediately.

“Here. Right here,” he called.

“Tele-gum fer Mis-ter Straw-bridge,” came the sing-song answer.

“Telegram!” exclaimed Jack. Then he shouted, “All right, bring it up! Third floor, Room Thirty-two.”

“Huh, what’s this? Some more mystery?” demanded Tommy Todd as Jack left the window.

“You know as much about it as I do,” said Jack, somewhat disturbed.

A moment later the lazy tread of the messenger boy could be heard on the creaking stairs. Then came a knock.

“Come in,” shouted Jack and the door was pushed open to admit a blue clad messenger of diminutive proportions, whose hat was cocked at a rakish angle on his head.

“Day letter. Sign on dis line here,” he said laconically, as he handed Jack the stub of a much-used pencil.

Jack signed hastily and the youth scuffled out into the hall, forgetting entirely to close the door. But the captain of the football team did not notice this. With trembling fingers he was tearing the end off the yellow envelope, while the rest of the boys looked on in wonder.

As Jack unfolded the telegraph blank his face took on an expression of great concern. But as he began to read, this expression changed to a smile of delight. Finally after he had finished, he exclaimed,

“Hi, fellows, listen to this. Talk about luck. Guess I won’t accept your offer for a job in the paper mill, Harvey. I have one that is almost as good as a trip to Mexico. Here, I’ll read all about it.”

Dear Jack:

On our way up from Mexico last Summer I told you of certain work that I expected to do for the Lighthouse Bureau. Part of that work is now to be undertaken. I am to build a lighthouse on Cobra Reef, Hood Island, Maine. I know that you are interested in engineering and therefore I am holding open a job as clerk in the building crew. If you want the position wire me at once and report at Jefferson Hotel, Portland, Maine, on Tuesday afternoon. This will make a Summer vacation position in which you can earn a little money and learn a great deal about marine engineering. If you haven’t anything better to do be sure and come along.

Yours truly,
James Warner,
Lighthouse Bureau, Washington, D. C.

“If I haven’t anything better to do,” jeered Jack. “Huh, could there be anything better to do?”

“Talk about downright good luck,” said Harvey Maston.

“When do you start? Next Tuesday. Eh! Three days from now.”

“That’s going to be quick work. I’ll have to get Dr. Moorland to excuse me several days before school is officially closed for the Summer, but I haven’t any more exams to keep me here. I guess I’ll go over and see him now. I may leave first thing to-morrow morning if Dr. Moorland will let me off. I would like to spend a day or two with my dad and talk the matter over with him.”

And taking his hat, Jack left Phillip’s Hall for a hasty visit to the principal’s cottage in the maple grove across the campus.

CHAPTER II
“HOOD ISLAND—HO!”

Of course Dr. Moorland was willing to excuse Jack for the remaining week of school. Indeed, after he had looked up the lad’s term record and examination marks in his little card index, which he always kept on the top of his study desk, the old pedagogue even urged Jack to telegraph his acceptance to Mr. Warner immediately. He pointed out that a Summer spent among the lighthouse builders would be of great educational value, and besides it would afford an excellent opportunity for the youth to earn some extra money. But first of all he suggested that Jack call his father on the long-distance telephone and secure permission to avail himself of the opportunity.

Jack’s home was in Middlebury, about fifty miles from Drueryville, and the rates on telephone calls did not amount to a great deal. He made the call on the principal’s telephone while the old man listened to as much of the conversation as he could gather. Jack’s father saw the offer in identically the same light as Dr. Moorland did and advised the boy to accept the position immediately. He did say that he hoped Jack would contrive to spend a day or two at Middlebury before he left for Portland, however.

When Jack repeated this to Dr. Moorland the principal generously excused him from any further work at Drueryville and suggested that he return to Phillip’s Hall immediately and pack his things, so that he would be ready to leave on the first train Sunday morning, thus giving the lad at least two days at home. Needless to say Jack was thoroughly pleased with this offer and he wrung the old gentleman’s hand cordially as he said good-by.

Ten o’clock next morning found our young friend swinging from the train as it rolled into Middlebury station. Townsend Strawbridge, his father, was there to greet him and drive him home in the new red automobile which he had acquired that Spring. Just at that particular period Strawbridge senior was a very busy man. During the past Winter he had completed the organization of a stock company to operate the abandoned marble quarries on his property, and now he was engaged in the work preliminary to actual quarrying, which he assured Jack would begin some time in the Fall or the following Spring. However, he was not too busy to listen to all that Jack had to say, and you may be sure the lad from Drueryville Academy had a great deal to tell his dad. He reviewed everything, from the record of the baseball team to the bad outlook for the football team next year, and his father listened eagerly to every word.

Then after all the news was exhausted the two began to plan for Jack’s stay with the lighthouse builders. Rough, serviceable clothes, warm sweaters, boots, oilskins and similar garments were dug up and packed in an old steamer chest which his father unearthed in the garret of the Strawbridge homestead. Salt water fishing tackle was put in shape, a compass, and sailor’s clasp knife with a lanyard attached, were added, and the entire outfit was put in first-class shape for a two months’ stay on the Maine Coast Island.

The preparations and the anticipation of the trip kept the lad keyed up to a high pitch of excitement. In this state he managed to accomplish a remarkable number of things during the two short days at home, and when it finally came time to leave on Tuesday morning both he and his father were of the opinion that everything was “shipshape” for a very pleasant Summer of work and play.

Jack lingered in the red automobile at the Middlebury station until the train on which he was to leave rolled in. Then a hasty good-by was said and the lad swung aboard the last Pullman car, to appear a few moments later on the observation platform in the rear. From this point of vantage he watched the man and the red car until a sharp bend in the road shut them from sight.

And as he stood there waving farewell, a strange feeling of homesickness came over this young adventurer and he realized fully how much his old dad meant to him. In truth a lump gathered in his throat, for it seemed to him that his father looked pathetically lonesome as he sat gazing after the disappearing train. Was he selfish to deprive his father of his company during the Summer vacation? Was the trip going to be worth the sacrifice his parent was making for him?

“Good old dad,” he murmured as he turned back into the car. “Good old dad. How lucky I am to have such a corking fine father. I’ll bet there is many a chap who wishes that he was as fortunate as I am.”

With such thoughts Jack rummaged in his valise and brought forth a fountain pen and some paper and for the next half hour he was extremely occupied in writing an affectionate letter to his paternal parent, which he mailed at the first stop the train made.

The ride to Portland, though it occupied a greater part of the day, was through very picturesque country. The Green Mountains of Vermont and later notches in the picturesque White Mountains were traversed, until finally the train entered the rich, thickly wooded country of western Maine. A few hours later Jack caught his first view of the coast, and he knew that he was entering upon the last stage of his long overland journey.

It was nearly sundown when he reached his destination, and he was tired and hungry and his clothes were somewhat soiled from his day of travel when he jumped aboard the Portland trolley car on his way to the Jefferson House. He was not too tired, however, to make note of the fact that the city was unusually cozy in appearance, nor did he neglect to take a good look at the quaint, old-fashioned houses and particularly the one which the conductor pointed out to him as the home of America’s greatest poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

James Warner, the same enthusiastic, sun-browned engineer whom Jack had met on board the Yucatan just a year before, greeted the lad from Drueryville Academy as he swung up the front steps of the Jefferson House. Mr. Warner was sitting in one of the long line of chairs in the hotel lobby when he caught a glimpse of Jack.

“Well, Jack Straw, how are you, anyway? I’m mighty glad you decided to come along,” he shouted, as he gripped the hand of the young traveler.

“Huh, decided to come—why, there wasn’t any alternative. I simply had to take advantage of such a piece of good luck. I think I’m the most fortunate boy in the world to get an invitation to join your crew,” responded Jack, just as enthusiastic as Mr. Warner.

“Tut, tut, my boy, don’t be too sure of your luck. You’ll have to work mighty hard. It won’t be all play, let me tell you. I know, because I’ve been through it a dozen times,” replied the engineer.

But Jack could not be convinced that a Summer on a Maine island with a lighthouse construction crew would not be about the most delightful two months he had ever spent in his life.

Mr. Warner changed the conversation completely the next instant.

“You haven’t had dinner yet, have you, Jack? I haven’t. I have been waiting for you and I’ve been getting hungrier by the minute. I spent most of my day down at the lighthouse depot, seeing to the loading of the Blueflower (that’s the lighthouse tender that will take us to Hood Island to-morrow), and the sea air has put a real edge on my appetite. Come on into the dining-room and help me devour a good big steak. You can arrange for your room later.”

Traveling had certainly not dulled the keenness of Jack’s appetite either, and he assured Mr. Warner, as they entered the long dining-room, that he would be able to do justice to the steak in question. And he clearly demonstrated this fact during the ensuing hour.

The evening was spent in Mr. Warner’s room, for the engineer had a great deal to do in the way of packing clothes, books, and bundles of blueprints. At nine o’clock he called for a bell boy and instructed that worthy to bring two glasses of iced lemonade and a dish of assorted crackers, to fortify themselves, as Mr. Warner humorously explained, against a night attack of hunger.

Jack was thoroughly in accord with this strategic measure and fell to with a will. The luncheon disposed of, Mr. Warner suggested that they retire, since they would have to have breakfast at sunrise the following morning in order to report at the lighthouse depot at half-past six.

Considering the importance of the day, it is not at all surprising that Jack did not oversleep next morning. Indeed, he was up and dressed and ready to go down to the dining-room when Mr. Warner knocked on his door to arouse him. Breakfast was disposed of in short order, and the engineer and his young companion were on their way down to the waterfront before the city was thoroughly awake.

But the men at the district lighthouse depot were wide awake and working with a vigor when they arrived. They were loading tools and supplies on board the Blueflower, and from the pile of barrels and boxes on the long dock at which the tender was moored it was evident that it would be some little time before the engineer of the Hood Island expedition would be ready to start.

The depot was an extremely interesting place to Jack. It was a reservation on the edge of Portland Harbor, surrounded by a high brick wall. Part of this space was taken up by long low buildings occupied as repair shops, and the remainder was devoted to storeyard space. Long docks reached out from the shore front and at these a varied assortment of craft were moored, ranging from tiny motor boats to the businesslike looking Blueflower. There was a frowning gray torpedo boat destroyer that had put in there for some official reason or other, and two weather-beaten lightships that were undergoing repairs, not to mention a coal barge and several other unimportant vessels. On the docks and in the storeyard were huge iron buoys that looked quite enormous out of water. These were being painted and repaired, and Mr. Warner explained that they would soon be loaded aboard a tender and taken out to the various bars and reefs in the harbor to be planted as permanent channel marks.

The lightships were curious looking vessels. They were built of steel and painted red, with their name marked in tall white letters the entire length of the hull.

Each was equipped with two steel masts at the top of which were the lanterns and the big wickerwork day marks. The mast of one of the boats had been taken out, and Mr. Warner explained that she would later be equipped with a new kind of mast like a miniature lighthouse, which would be built of steel and large enough to permit a man to climb up through its center and not expose himself to the fury of the elements.

“Service on board the lightships, Jack,” said Mr. Warner as they walked through the yard, “is not as dreary as it might seem. These vessels are usually anchored out in the steamship lanes and passing vessels steer dead on for their light in order to keep into the deep channel. Imagine how comfortable it must be on a foggy night to be aboard one of these vessels and know that every steamer coming that way is headed straight for you. Oh, yes, they are run down quite frequently, for you see that they are without motive power in most cases and cannot get away from danger. Then, too, they are not allowed to slip their cable or leave their anchorage under any circumstances, no matter what the danger may be.

“There have been several serious accidents since the United States established a lightship service back in 1820, by putting a light vessel at the entrance of Chesapeake Bay.”

“How many light vessels are there in the Government Service?” queried Jack.

“There are now about fifty on duty, not including the relief ships, some of which sail under their own power and travel from place to place, relieving vessels that are brought into the stations to be repaired and overhauled,” replied Mr. Warner.

By this time the two had made a complete circuit of the yard and reached the dock at which the Blueflower was moored. A tall, good-looking man in uniform and smoking a pipe was coming down the gang-plank. Mr. Warner hurried ahead when he caught sight of him and greeted him heartily.

“Jack,” he said, “this is Captain Wilmoth, who will take us to Hood Island, and, Captain, this is John Strawbridge, otherwise known as Jack Straw. He is a young adventurer whom I met on the way to Mexico last Summer. He is going to Hood Island with me as clerk. Incidentally he hopes to learn something about the service and a great deal about lighthouse construction work, for he intends one day to be an engineer.”

“Well, you couldn’t have found a more competent instructor, Jack,” said the captain, as he shook the lad’s hand. Then turning to Mr. Warner, he announced that the cargo had been loaded and everything was ready for a start. Mr. Warner made a last and hasty inspection of everything about the dock, saw that all personal luggage had been carried aboard, and then all three climbed the steep gang-plank. A few moments later the men on the dock cast off, and with whistle shrieking the Blueflower backed out of her berth and turned her sharp prow toward the open sea.

The boy was left to his own devices for the next few hours, for Mr. Warner had a mass of plans and blueprints to look over. He did not become lonesome, however, for he seized this opportunity to inspect the tender. From stem to stern he rambled, taking in every detail of the vessel. He found that she was a roomy and rather speedy craft built like an ocean-going tug, only on a much larger scale. She was rigged to withstand all sorts of weather and accomplish all kinds of work, and her rugged lines appealed to the lad immediately.

While he was on his tour of inspection he ran across Captain Wilmoth, coming out of the cabin. He was a very affable-looking man of middle age, with sharp blue eyes and stiff black hair liberally sprinkled with gray. In his natty blue uniform, he was Jack’s idea of a modern sea captain, and as he advanced across the deck the lad could not help admiring him.

“Well, son,” said the officer genially, “having a good look at the old tub? Like her?”

“You bet I do. She looks as if she might fight any kind of a storm.”

“Right, my boy, she can,” said the captain as he filled his pipe from a leather tobacco pouch. “The old Blueflower will take any kind of a sea without a shiver. All the lighthouse tenders are fine craft. They have to be mighty stanch for they are traveling the high seas all the year round, carrying provisions to lightships and lighthouses, and seeing that everything is kept in order along Uncle Sam’s forty odd thousand miles of coast line.”

“How many tenders does the Government have in service?” queried Jack.

“I think there are about forty-six on both coasts. And you may be interested to know that they are all named after some kind of a flower, the same as battleships are named after States. There is plenty of work for them to do, too, for besides carrying the supplies, they take care of all the buoy planting. That’s tough work. In the Spring and Fall we have to gather up all the old buoys that have been in the water a long time and replace them with new ones that have been overhauled in the Portland yard. You see barnacles and other submarine growths make it necessary to take the buoys out every so often and scrape and paint them. Then of course they have to be returned to the water again. There are all kinds of buoys in the service and they all mark different types of danger points. There are whistling buoys, bell buoys, light buoys, unlighted buoys and spar buoys, and none of them is particularly easy to handle, I can assure you. Many a man has lost a leg or an arm while trying to put one of the blooming things over the side of a vessel.”

“I’d like to watch the operation some time,” said Jack.

“Well, perhaps you’ll have an opportunity to. But just now I’d forget about it and pay more attention to the cook’s bell. He’s been ding-a-linging all over the ship. Don’t you want something to eat?”

“Eat, why I’m starved,” said the lad. And together he and the captain went into the dining-room.

The marine engineer had finished his work on the plans during the few hours before dinner and was at liberty to spend the time on deck with Jack and the captain during the afternoon. The run to Hood Island took about eight hours in all, and the captain had estimated that they would not make their destination much before four o’clock.

The vessel was well out to sea and running due north when Jack came on deck and the boy thrilled with pleasure when he viewed the vast expanse of lonesome water. Astern was a long trail of black smoke across the sky left by a steamer that had disappeared below the horizon, while north and off the port bow was a distant sail almost directly in the path of the tender. Jack watched this sail curiously, for he was interested to know how soon the Blueflower would overtake it. Gradually they drew up on it until he could make out the rig without difficulty. She appeared to be a very swift sailing yawl and Mr. Warner confirmed this when a few minutes later he brought his binoculars from the cabin and had a good look at her.

“She’s a trim little yawl and from the pulpit-like affair on her bowsprit I take it she’s a swordfisherman. These waters are full of ’em. I wish that they would locate a big fish, then you’d see some fun.”

“From her lines,” he said after another inspection, “I should say she was a mighty speedy craft. She has a big patch in her main sail. And her name is—F-i-s-h—H—it looks like Fish Hawk, but I can’t be positive. Hang it, I would like to— Say, fellows, get your glasses. They are after a swordfish! There’s a man with a harpoon climbing out onto her bowsprit now! Hurry!”

Jack and the captain hustled into the cabin and a moment later returned armed with binoculars. Through his, Jack got an excellent view of the little vessel. She had altered her course so that she was running at a right angle to the direction taken by the tender and the huge patch in the mainsail was quite visible. He could see the harpoon wielder climbing out on her bowsprit, too, and he watched intently as he saw him poise, spear aloft, ready to strike.

For fully five minutes the man stood in this attitude. Then suddenly he lunged forward and hurled the shaft. Instantly there was a mighty splash just under the yawl’s bow and the next moment the craft shot forward with a rush.

The fight was on! This way and that the little ship zigzagged, jerked about like a nut shell by the powerful fish it was hitched to. It was a terrible struggle! Now and then the monster would come more than half out of the water in a frenzied effort to tear the harpoon loose! Jack could see its long tusk cut the waves and he shuddered when he thought of the damage the sword would do to a dory or any other small craft in its way. But these tremendous rushes soon began to tell on the captive and the struggle settled down to a steady pulling match, in which the fish towed the yawl at least three miles out of the tender’s course. At this point Mr. Warner and the rest put down their glasses. Jack, however, watched longer than the rest for he was extremely interested.

But before he saw the finish, his attention was diverted by a shout from the bow:

“Hood Island—Ho!” came the cry of the lookout.

There was something in the call that thrilled the lad and instantly he turned his glasses toward the north. In the dim distance he could make out a long wooded island, the seaward end of which was a high promontory. On this was perched the black and white tower of the old Hood Island light; the structure which was soon to be replaced by a more modern building, providing Mr. Warner and his men were able to conquer the breakers that swept the head of Cobra Reef.

“Well, Jack, there’s the scene of our future triumphs,” said Mr. Warner, clapping the boy on the shoulder.

“Fine; it certainly does look interesting from here,” said the lad enthusiastically.

“In about an hour you’ll have a chance to see the place at close range. Then perhaps you won’t be so keen about it, my boy.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” insisted the lad from Drueryville, as he took another look at the island through his glasses.

CHAPTER III
THE RUNAWAY

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.

CHAPTER IV
BIG O’BRIEN GETS HIS BICEPS INTO ACTION

“By jiminy, old man, you certainly can swim,” exclaimed Jack as he reached the lad from the Fish Hawk. But the newcomer to Hood Island made no reply. Instead, he stood still and eyed Jack suspiciously.

“Oh, that’s all right. You needn’t mistrust me. Here’s my hand on it. My name is John Strawbridge—Jack Straw for short, you know,” said the lad from Drueryville, extending his hand toward the big fellow.

“Mine’s Raymond Carroll. Call me Ray; it sounds better.”

“Glad to meet you, Ray. What’s all the fuss about, anyway? What are you quitting the fisherman for? Had trouble with the master?”

“Trouble? Huh, I never am out of trouble. Yes, I’ve had a row with the captain. He’s my uncle and I guess a day hasn’t passed in the last ten years that we haven’t had some sort of a run in. But I’ve left him for good this time. I’d swim clean from here to the mainland before I’d go back on board his old vessel. By hookey, I’ve done nothing but fight with him and his men ever since I started on this cruise. He said he’d knock the inventive bug out of me or crack my head trying. He’s thrashed me with rope ends and even mauled me with a belaying pin now and then when I got my dander up. Look here.”

Ray threw back his wet shirt and exhibited a deep, ragged wound across his shoulder.

“And you swam ashore with that!” cried Jack incredulously.

“Yep, but if it had been fifty feet further I guess I’d never have come out of the water alive. My arm feels as if it was paralyzed. I can’t raise it now.”

“Huh, I don’t wonder. Come on up to camp and get it fixed up,” said Jack solicitously. But just at this point Mr. Warner and Big O’Brien joined them. Ray’s shirt was still open and both men saw the ugly cut.

“By George, lad, that’s a bad slash you have there. What have you been doing for it?” said the marine engineer as he bent closer to examine the laceration.

“Taking a salt water bath,” said the lad with a plucky smile.

“Yes? Well, if you get it infected, you’ll not smile about it. Come up to the lighthouse and we’ll see if Eli Whittaker has anything in his government medicine chest that will help you. A good application of iodine is the thing to chase away the poison germs and heal it up. Come along, son.”

And together they climbed the steep path to the camp. Here they were greeted by a group of workmen who were eager to hear Ray’s story, but Mr. Warner refused to allow the boy to satisfy their curiosity until they had reached the lighthouse and done some doctoring.

Old Eli Whittaker, the keeper of Hood Island light for ten years past, was just getting downstairs from his bedroom on the top floor of the little dwelling attached to the lighthouse, when Mr. Warner and his party arrived. The old keeper had been able to get four hours’ sleep since five o’clock that morning, when he put the light out, and he figured that he had quite enough to last him until the following morning.

“’Lo, Mister Warner. T’men told me you was coming. I calc-late ye came ashore this morning,” said Eli, shaking hands with the engineer.

“Yes, Captain Whittaker,” said Mr. Warner. “We came up on the Blueflower. Say, Captain, how’s the ‘doctor’? We have a patient here. We wanted to see if you had anything in your medicine chest to take the pain out of a nasty flesh wound. Some iodine perhaps.”

“Wall, I calc-late ye can have ’bout a pint o’ it. Hope ye ain’t goin’ t’ need moren that ’cause that all’s left in t’ bottle. My two Manx cats ‘Port’ and ‘Sta’berd’ got fightin’ t’ other night an’ I used a heap o’ iodine t’ mend up their plegid hides,” said the lighthouse keeper, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

“That will be quite enough,” said Mr. Warner. “Where are your two famous tailless cats? I guess every man in the service knows about those cats.”

“Oh, they’re around somewheres, drat ’em,” said Captain Eli. Then he added:

“All right, come in an’ make yerselfs t’hum, gentlemen, while I consult t’ ‘doc.’”

They were ushered into the spick-and-span living apartment of the tiny four-room cottage adjoining the lighthouse tower, while Captain Whittaker bustled into the kitchen and returned with the portable medicine chest which the Service furnishes to all lighthouse keepers. This was the doctor referred to and Eli scrutinized the various bottles carefully before he brought out one labeled “Poison.”

“Here’s the consarn stuff. Now, let me see this here cut, young feller,” he said. Then when he had looked at the wound he began bathing and bandaging with experienced fingers. Of course Ray winced with pain when the iodine was applied, but he realized that it was the best thing for him.

“There,” said the light keeper after he had finished, “I guess ye’ll pull through all right, providin’ no complications sets in, es Old Doc Chipman sez when he hed stitched up Buck Longyear after t’ red bull hed carried him clear ’cross t’ pasture lot on t’ p’int o’ his horn. How did you come to get beat up so? Been gettin’ fresh to t’ skipper?”

“Yes, tell us your troubles, Ray,” said Jack, who was dreadfully curious to hear the boy’s tale.

“Oh, it isn’t much of a story,” said Ray. “Just a case of my usual luck. I’ve been living with my Uncle Vance for the last ten years. My dad died when I was five and mother followed him a year after. I guess Uncle Vance wasn’t keen on having me on his hands from the first, leastwise he never showed that he liked the idea at all, so I always took it for granted that I was sort of in his way.

“He’s a man who believes that every one including himself should work from dawn until darkness. He says it’s the only way to get along. Just slave like a horse at the work in front of you. That is all he has ever done. He don’t believe in progress and he won’t take any stock in a single new idea. That’s why he and I had most of our misunderstandings. I like to potter with machinery and build things. He called it all ‘durned nonsense’ and allowed he’d thrash it all out of me if it was the only thing he ever accomplished.

“Everything I built he broke up for kindling wood or tossed overboard as useless. Then he’d give me a flogging for not being hard at work on something more useful. It made me mighty mad. One time I made a corking fine water wheel in the trout stream back of our house in Ascog. I had the grindstone hitched to it, and every time I wanted to grind the ax or a knife or anything, all I had to do was to slip the belt on the pulley and away she went.

“But when Uncle Vance saw that he was furious. He smashed the waterwheel and flogged me good. Then he set to work and gathered every knife and hatchet he could find in Ascog and made me sharpen ’em on an old foot stone just to teach me that laziness never profited any one. I was only eight years old, but I never forgot that. Always since then I’ve taken particular pains to hide everything I made.

“All this Spring I was working on a model of a non-sinkable metal lifeboat. You see, I had an idea I might have it patented and perhaps make money enough out of it to go to high school. Uncle Vance says my schooling days are over and that any more learning would make me lazier than I am. And I just simply want to go to high school so that some day I can go to college and study engineering. Well, about the lifeboat.

“When we started off after swordfish on this last cruise, I smuggled the model aboard the yawl, because I thought I’d get a chance to do some tinkering on it when Uncle Vance wasn’t looking. That was the worst thing I could have done. Last Monday he caught me working on it and he was thundering mad. He just rushed at me and tore it out of my hands. Then he threw the thing overboard and got a rope end. And when he whaled me so I couldn’t stand it any longer and pulled away from him, he threw a belaying pin at me and hit me on the shoulder. Oh, he’s a fine uncle, you can bet. Can’t blame me for being bitter, can you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Mr. Warner.

“That’s sort of tough treatment,” said Jack with sympathy.

“I guess it was. Well, I decided after that I would quit Uncle Vance. Last night I took the plugs out of all the dories after they had been hoisted aboard and then made up my mind to skip to the first land we sighted. And here I am. I guess Uncle Vance will miss me a little at that. He’ll miss flogging me with a rope end. And he’ll miss me if Old Bart gets seasick, as he often does. Old Bart is the harpooner and next to him I was the best harpooner of the—”

Ray stopped talking abruptly and looked with horror toward the door. There stood a big, burly, black-whiskered individual, who fitted exactly Jack’s idea of an old-time buccaneer. He was hatless and his shirt was open at the throat and his great brawny arms were bared to the elbow. In his hand he gripped two knotted rope ends. For a moment he paused there, glowering at Ray. Then with a roar he lunged forward as if he intended to tear the boy in two.

“Oh, it’s Uncle Vance!” screamed Ray, leaping back in fear.

And as quickly as the lad jumped out of the path of the fisherman, into his path stepped Big O’Brien, the camp foreman. This rapid change of principals seemed to disconcert the intruder for a moment, for he stopped abruptly and faced the big Irishman. Both were silent and tense. Not a word did they exchange, but as they stood there glaring at each other it was evident that each was ready to crush the other with a blow. The fisherman’s face was as black as a thunder cloud.

“Let me at t’ whelp,” he hissed.

O’Brien swallowed hard. Then slowly raised his hand and pointed toward the door.

“Git OUT! Git, or I’ll thrash ye! Ye don’t know how t’ take care o’ a nephy!” he roared.

The fisherman did not move. Instead his fist drew back for a blow. But the foreman was too quick for him. Throwing self-control to the wind, the Irishman reached out and seized the big man around the waist. Then with a superhuman effort he lifted him from the floor and hurled him back through the doorway, following after him like a panther.

Now it happened that just at this point one of the fisherman’s followers, who had come ashore with him, was entering the cottage. The captain, as he plunged headlong through the open, collided with this man and both fell into a heap at the very doorstep. But they were on their feet in an instant and O’Brien had hardly stepped clear of the room before his bearded adversary was on guard.

O’Brien’s eyes narrowed in anger. He never paused or wavered a moment but plunged forward like an enraged bull. It was a vicious fight while it lasted. Strength and brawn against strength and brawn. Two masters fighting in almost fatal earnestness, one to avenge an insult, the other to prove his mastery. The grunts that accompanied each trip hammer blow told the bitterness of the encounter.

There were no preliminaries. O’Brien rushed the bearded man and as he closed in his arm shot up from his hip like a shaft of darting lightning. Behind it was every ounce of strength in his great powerful body. The smack of flesh against flesh sounded and the fisherman staggered. An instant he swayed, then he lurched forward into a clinch before the Irishman could deliver a second blow. Desperately he clung on, swaying to the right and left with the foreman, who tried his hardest to shake him off.

Men came rushing from the camp. They formed a circle about the two. They were big burly men and every one of them loved a fight. Jack and Ray and the engineer and even mild-tempered old Eli Whittaker were among them, and as they watched the swaying figures before them their natural love of combat cropped forth and they cheered lustily with the rest, cheered lustily at each clever move, no matter which one made it.

The fisherman held on to the clinch until O’Brien was almost beside himself with rage. He held on for his life until his head cleared from the stinging hammer-like blow he had received on the jaw. Then suddenly with a catlike movement he broke, dropping low and slipping away from two terrific blows aimed at his head.

This agility called forth applause from the men in the circle, which developed into a burst of cheers when the black-bearded one stepped back again and drove right, left and right against O’Brien’s stomach and jumped away before the Irishman could get in anything better than a glancing punch on the head in return. Once again he waded in. But this time he was not so fortunate. O’Brien’s great ham-like fist smashed squarely against his nose, and before he could recover himself a left hook shot up and snapped his head back between his shoulders!

Once more he clinched and held, while O’Brien squirmed and wriggled to free himself for a final and finishing blow.

But the fisherman’s wits cleared again. Then for a moment his head rested on the shoulder of his opponent, his mouth temptingly near the great corded neck of the foreman. An instant later the mariner’s mouth opened and his short tobacco-stained teeth sunk into O’Brien’s flesh. He bit and bit deeply and tiny streams of blood trickled out from between his lips and stained the foreman’s shirt.

With a howl of pain O’Brien hurled the man from him and rained crushing blows onto his face. The mariner was no match for the infuriated foreman after that. He dodged this way and that to avoid the terrible punishment, only in the end to plunge headlong into a mighty swing that O’Brien meant to be the finishing blow! [The fight ended there!] The impact was terrible! The bearded one’s body snapped like a spring. He clutched blindly for something to support him! Then he pitched forward into the grass!

“[The fight ended there!]”

A moment the great body quivered, then slowly his knees drew upward almost to his chin, and he lay perfectly still!

O’Brien stood over him, one fist clenched, the other mopping the blood from his neck.

“There, blame him, I guess that finishes his fightin’ fer t’day,” he said laconically. Then to the other swordfisherman who stood near by he said, “There’s yer captain. Lug him out o’ here es fast as ye kin. I don’t want t’ see his ugly face ’round here any more ner yours neither.” And still mopping the blood from the wound in his neck, he elbowed his way through the crowd and disregarding the shouts of applause made his way into Eli Whittaker’s cottage, where he sought the iodine bottle so recently used on Ray’s shoulder.

For several minutes Ray’s Uncle Vance lay unconscious on the grass while the other fisherman worked over him. Finally with the aid of a bucket of cold water, he was revived. Slowly his eyes opened and he looked about. Then without a word he struggled to his feet and assisted by his companion walked slowly down the steep path toward the beach where his dory lay hauled up above the water line. The crowd on the promontory watched him go; in fact, they remained until they saw the small boat reach the yawl. Then O’Brien appeared on the scene again and sent them all back to their task of building houses.

“Say, your uncle is some fighter, Ray. But he wasn’t a match for O’Brien,” said Jack, as the two boys watched the fishermen raise the mainsail of the yawl.

“You bet he wasn’t. That was some of his own medicine applied in a larger quantity. By hookey, I’ll bet a copper he’s raving mad at me. Mark my word, this isn’t the last we hear from him,” said Ray.

“Well, it’s the last we’ll hear from him to-day, for his boat is starting off toward the south,” said Jack.

“That being the case,” said Mr. Warner, “I’m going to look around and become familiar with my working staff. I want to start a survey of Cobra Head to-morrow if I can. You boys can come along if you want to. In fact, I rather think I’ll need you along to help me take stock of materials and things.

“And, by the way there, son—ah—er—Ray, I mean, what are we going to do with you?”

“I don’t know, sir,” said Ray, looking anxiously at the engineer.

“Well, ah—er—hum, how’d you like a job clerking here with Jack? Can’t pay you much, but we’ll give you your board at least. There will be enough work for the two of you to do, I guess. How about it?”

“That would be slick,” exclaimed Ray, all smiles now.

“All right. You’re hired. Come along with me,” said Mr. Warner.

CHAPTER V
MEN OF HONOR

As soon as the trio began their tour of inspection of the construction camp Jack’s curiosity about the big blocks of granite that looked like sections of a jig-saw puzzle was revived, and the first question he asked of Mr. Warner was:

“What were you going to tell me about that granite?”

“Oh, yes,” said the engineer; “I haven’t said much about lighthouse building yet, have I? Well, we’ll begin at the proper place, which is the beginning, and I’ll outline to you and Ray just what we hope to do here on Cobra Reef. I don’t know whether you two have studied that big boulder out there that looks like a snake’s head, but if you have you’ve noticed that it is about fifty feet across in either direction and that at low tide it stands eighteen or twenty feet out of water. Under those circumstances it is not going to be as difficult to build a lighthouse there as it would were the rock submerged all day. As a matter of fact, it is never totally under water, although sometimes the seas break completely over it at high tide.

“Last year when it was decided to supersede the Hood Island light with a more modern structure (you’ve noticed that the present tower is quite antiquated in appearance) engineers from the Bureau of Lighthouses came here and after a great deal of trouble landed on Cobra Head and ran a survey across the rock. Their figures were taken to Washington and studied, and the kind of a lighthouse necessary to crown the reef was decided upon.

“The decision resulted in the adoption of the most common form of light which is known as a monolithic structure; a single shaft of stone. Lighthouses of this character are usually built of granite prepared as the granite you see over there on the cliff’s edge. There are other good lighthouse materials, however. Some structures are built of reenforced concrete, some of steel, and some are nothing more or less than wooden buildings built on steel supports.

“But granite is considered superior material where the light is wave swept, as this one will be. In building a lighthouse of granite it is very necessary that when the pile is completed it shall be almost as solid as a single section of rock. To make this possible a European engineer, a long time ago, devised the plan of making each block of stone lock into the other by means of dove-tailing them. This is accomplished by having the stonecutters in the quarry yards chip projections on the top and one side, and indentations on the bottom and remaining side of the granite building blocks, so that when the stone is put in place the two projections fit into two indentions on the side of the block next to it and the top of the one it rests upon, and the indentions on the side and top are ready to receive the projections of the next stone.”

Here Mr. Warner tore a sheet from his engineering note-book and sitting on the edge of one of the big blocks [he sketched out a cross section of the foundation of the proposed lighthouse as well as a sectional view of the structure itself], thus giving the boys a clear idea of how the work would be done.

[Map of Hood Island and Cobra Reef], Sketched by Mr. Warner and Later Filled in by Jack Straw and Forwarded to His Father.

A, Cobra Head. B, Reef. C, Cable-Way Between Island and Reef. D, Granite Blocks. E, Construction Camp. F, Captain Eli Whittaker’s Light. G, Beach. H, Anchorage for Whale-Boats. I, Old Mitchell’s House. J, Anchorage of the Betsy Ann. K, Path from Beach to Camp. L, Cliffs. M, Mitchell’s Flounder Fishing Grounds. N, Mitchell’s Lobster Traps. O, Opening in the Reef Through Which the Blueflower Entered. P, Cross-section of Lighthouse Foundation. Q, Cross-section of Lighthouse Tower.

“The work of shaping the stones is all done at the quarries; indeed the entire lighthouse is erected stone for stone in the quarry yard so that every piece fits perfectly. The blocks are then numbered and the structure is taken apart and shipped here. If you’ll notice each of those granite blocks is numbered according to position and section. In that way there is no delay in preparing materials while construction work is under way.”

“My, but that’s interesting,” said Jack. “I did notice that each block was marked, but I had no idea that building a stone lighthouse could be made as simple as all that.”

“Oh, it may sound simple,” said Mr. Warner, “but you just wait until we begin operations. Then it won’t seem so easy.”

“What gets me,” said Ray, “is how you are going to get all of those big chunks of stone over to the rock. Why, some of ’em look as if they weighed five or six tons. Also, how on earth did you get them up on top of this cliff?”

“I’ll answer both of those questions at once,” said Mr. Warner. “You are quite right, Ray; the blocks do weigh a great deal. In fact, some of the larger ones to be used in the base of the lighthouse weigh fully four tons. Under those circumstances it must look like a tremendous task to get them up to the top of the cliff and later take them over to the rock. You see, if Cobra Head had been larger and the water in the vicinity less treacherous, the lighters that brought the stone here from Portland would have landed it on the rock. Under the existing conditions, however, this could not be done and the next best thing was to land the material on Hood Island. To leave it at the beach, where we came ashore, would have been out of the question, for it would be necessary later on to reload it on lighters, section by section, and take it to the rock. Finally we decided that we would adopt the same methods as those used by the English engineers in building several famous lights; that is, we planned an aerial cableway between the top of the cliff and Cobra Head rock, thus providing a short and safe means of conveying men, supplies and materials to the reef’s head. That steel tower yonder, which the men are re-rigging, and that donkey engine on the cliff’s edge, were installed a month or so ago, and every time a lighter with stone and supplies of a cumbersome nature came in, a temporary cableway was rigged from the tower to the mast on board the boat and the supplies brought ashore in that way.

“Our trip to the rock to-morrow will be to carry a line out there with which to rig up a temporary breeches-buoy outfit such as coastguards use in case of a wreck. In this men will be sent to the reef to drill holes and make an anchorage for the aerial cableway which will be built immediately. Then everything will be ready for the real construction work.”

Mr. Warner paused again and sketched a map of the reef and the island showing how the cableway would be built between the island and the head of the reef.

“What sort of a foundation will you have for the light, Mr. Warner?” asked Ray.

“Oh, I was coming to that. Here’s how we will proceed with the work. To-morrow we will land on the rock, providing Neptune is willing. Then while some men are drilling holes in which to put the ringbolts to hold the reef end of the cableway, other men will start chipping away the humps and bumps on Cobra Head. That lump that looks like a head itself will have to be cut away and the top of the hood will be made as flat as possible. It will not be necessary to dig very deep into the rock because the constant erosion of the sea for centuries past has eaten away all the soft parts of the rock, if there ever were any, and all that you see above water now is as firm and as hard as flint. As I said before, we’ll pare it down somewhat in spots and we may be forced to use a little dynamite in the work, though I’ll avoid that if possible for explosives may shatter the entire boulder if they are not used carefully. Then where would we be?”

“I think if that should happen you would have a mighty hard job on your hands,” said Jack.

“You’re right, we would,” assured Mr. Warner. Then he continued, “When the chipping is all done and the cableway is in working order, things will proceed as smoothly as the elements will allow. The first blocks will be sent down and put in place. They will be imbedded in cement which will take hold of both the rock and the building block. After the cement is set a hole will be drilled through the granite block and deep into the boulder. A heavy steel bolt will be sunk through this hole and anchored to the reef with hydraulic cement which will be forced home under pressure. When this cement has set the first tier of stones will be as solid as man can make it.