VII When the Light Failed at Carysfort
The United States Lighthouse Establishment organized by Thornton Jenkins, Rear-Admiral, United States Navy, had built many important lighthouses upon the coast of the States. The appropriations admitted the lighting of the dangerous coral banks of the Florida Reef, which rose from the blue Gulf Stream many miles offshore and stretched away from Cape Florida to Tortugas.
From Fowey Rocks to Sand Key the high, long-legged towers, built of iron piling driven into the rock and braced with rods, rose above the shoal water, and at night their huge lenses flashed forth a warning gleam for twenty miles or more over the sea.
Carysfort was the second from the beginning the reef: a tall iron structure, the lantern or lens mounted atop of a wooden house built upon the platform at the end of the piling.
Inside of the house were the two bedrooms of the keepers, the oil-room, storerooms, and kitchen. Large tanks of iron held hundreds of gallons of water caught from the roof.
Outside the structure the platform extended six feet clear all around, making a comfortable porch or piazza, with a high rail which hung out over the sea at a height of about a hundred feet.
A long iron ladder extended from a trap-door in the flooring to the sea below, stopping at a landing about half-way, where the keepers had a small woodpile, a flower-bed, and a few things which would stand exposure to the weather. At the sides of the platform above were davits, on which the two whale-boats hung.
Altogether, the little house and platform offered some inducements to men who were not particular about being alone for a long time.
It was many miles to the nearest land, clear out of sight from even the top of the tower; and to those who lived there it was like being at sea upon a small vessel which neither pitched nor rolled in a seaway, nor yet changed position in any manner. It was almost like living in mid-air.
It was a healthy life for the keepers. No germs of any known disease ever reached the distant lighthouse, and no sickness had ever occurred there.
On shore, it was a well-established axiom that among the offshore keepers none died—and few retired.
Every few months each could get a leave of absence on full pay and spend the time in any manner he pleased. The supply-ship stopped off the reef twice each year, and the lighthouse tender traversed the district as high as Cape Canaveral if anything was wanted.
So at least three or four times a year the keepers would hold communication with the outside world and converse with their fellow men.
The ships passing up the Hawk’s Channel from Key West went within a few miles of the reef, and steamers going north outside sometimes stood in close enough to be recognized: but the Carysfort and Alligator Reefs were good places to keep away from, and no vessels except the spongers remained long in sight.
The spongers consisted of small sloops and schooners, which hailed from Key West whose owners were the wreckers of the reef, and who spent the best part of the good weather in summer hunting the growths upon the coral which brought such good prices in the Northern drug-stores.
Few wreckers are piously inclined, some less so than others, but the outlying light was safe from thieves, for by hauling up the iron ladder the keepers were shut off completely from the world below. No one could, or would, climb those polished iron columns painted a dull red and as slippery as glass, unless something valuable was to be had at the top. So the keepers often left the trap-door open or unbolted, knowing their security.
Black Flanagan was the head keeper, a six-foot giant from Wisconsin, who had found his way to Florida while evading a Michigan sheriff. The work and confinement upon the light were not as irksome to him as might be expected.
His assistant was a preacher, a broken-down Methodist minister without a flock, whose religious tendencies were of an order which brooked solitude.
He had the reputation of being the most blasphemous man upon the Florida Reef, and his short sojourns ashore were marked by every excess capable of being committed by a human being within the law.
They called him “the howler,” for, when he was drunk—which he invariably was an hour after he came ashore—he would stop at the village street corners and bellow for converts.
Any one within a mile would know what was taking place, and many would stop to listen. Failure to get responses brought forth such a torrent of profanity that he would have to be locked up until sober—when he would repeat the effort until his leave was over.
Then, solemnly and with ponderous dignity, he would take himself back to his home in the air over the blue Gulf Stream, and no one would see him again for several months. Black Flanagan would greet him with a grunt, and the two would take up the even life of lighting the lantern and putting it out.
Men were not struggling for their positions, and they took some comfort from the fact. They would probably live so for a long time, drawing good pay, with nothing whatever to do except clean and light the lamp.
It was a hot and sultry morning in August, and the keepers were hanging lazily over the rail of the platform, when they saw the wrecking-sloop Sea-Horse coming slowly up the Hawk’s Channel.
Her main-boom was well off to port, and she was fanning along before a very light air from the southeast, going not more than two knots an hour.
Upon her deck lay the crew of half-naked Conchs, while at her wheel the giant form of “Bahama Bill,” the mate, stood leaning against the shaft, smoking a short pipe.
The fact that the black man now and then looked astern at a thin trail of smoke caused Black Flanagan to notice him.
“There goes the Sea-Horse,” said he to his assistant; and they both came to the side of the platform nearest the passing vessel.
“Never seen thet big feller show so much consarn about what was astern o’ him, hey?” said the preacher. “Looks like they were from the east’ard.” And he nodded significantly.
The sloop drew nearer, and the thin line of smoke rose blacker a dozen miles astern. Then there seemed to be signs of life aboard. Two men sprang up and began to drop large kegs overboard, making a great splashing. They kept this up for some minutes, and the keepers went inside the light for the telescope.
Astern of the sloop they made out small, black objects, which floated at intervals upon the swell, and were just discernible through the powerful glass.
For half an hour the men aboard the wrecking-vessel worked heaving cargo overboard, and, as they went along, the long line of tiny specks marked their wake.
“Corks,” said Flanagan; “I thought so.”
“They better hurry up,” said the preacher; “the cutter’s rising fast.” As he spoke, he looked toward the steamer, which was now coming along in plain view, her hull rising slowly above the horizon, and her funnel pouring out a black cloud, which hung over the sea.
“They’ll get caught fair enough. Half an hour, an’ the officers’ll be aboard.”
“Well, they won’t find anything. They’ll never see them corks—she’s already heading out to get them clear of the wake. When they catch her, she’ll be an innocent sponger—an’ we’ll——”
They looked at each other and smiled.
An hour later the Sea-Horse and revenue-cutter were upon the northern horizon heading into Biscayne, and the keepers were lowering their boats.
It is an unwritten law of the reef that a man may steal as much as he can from the United States, but he must not touch property belonging to an individual. A smuggler is not by any means a common thief.
Flanagan’s ideas were different. He held that it was well to steal whenever the opportunity offered without danger of getting caught; and upon this principle he had little difficulty in converting his pious assistant, whose thirst had not been slaked for three full months.
Together they loaded three of the kegs into the boats by simply pulling up the fishing-lines whose ends were floated by beer-bottle corks.
The lines anchoring the kegs were lying upon the bottom in six fathoms of water, out of sight, and the small cotton cords were amply strong enough to raise them. Once getting a grip of the anchoring-lines, they had no difficulty in hauling the liquor aboard their whale-boats.
The temptation to sample the goods was so strong that they desisted after the third keg, and made straight away for the lighthouse to enjoy the plunder. They could come back again and get the rest at their leisure, for the corks would be in plain view during the calm weather.
What transpired at the lighthouse during the next three days is somewhat hazy. No light appeared at night, and the Key West steamer almost ran ashore on her trip south. She reported the light out, and the tender was despatched to see what had happened.
The day was clear and bright, and the keepers were on the lookout, seeing the steamer when fully fifteen miles away. Their liquor was promptly put out of sight, and everything made snug to receive the inspector.
While there were evidences of drink in the faces of the men, they showed a properly kept light, and swore solemnly that they had not left the tower, and that the light had not failed at all.
They mildly suggested that the captain of the Key steamer may have been in a highly reprehensible condition to have accused two perfectly sober and diligent light-keepers of neglect of duty.
The pious one broke forth in prayer and exhortation for the delivery of deluded pilots from the wiles of the devil, and soon the inspector was glad to go aboard his vessel to return to Key West.
The Sea-Horse, having been searched at Miami and found to be clear of contraband, was allowed to go her way. She stood out to sea, and headed down the Hawk’s Channel just as the keepers lit the lantern for the evening watch. Black Flanagan was just sober enough to do this, and then turn in to continue his debauch with a pannikin of rum at his bed.
The Sea-Horse anchored near the light and waited for daylight to pick up the floats.
In the gray of early morning the black mate turned out the crew, leaving the captain below, and, taking the small boat, put off.
It was calm, and the corks were plainly visible. They were promptly hauled aboard, and the sunken kegs stowed until the end of the line was reached.
Here the mate found three floats missing, and, being in a suspicious frame of mind, he looked toward the light, which was still burning, although the rays of the rising sun were colouring the eastern horizon a rosy hue.
“They’ve got ’em, all right,” said he. “If we’re quick enough, we might catch ’em—give way hard.”
The small boat with three men was headed for the tower; and the Sea-Horse, with her captain now thoroughly awake, lay by for developments.
The big mate lost no time gaining the tower. It was broad day now, and Flanagan had just staggered up the steps into the lantern when the small boat arrived alongside the piles below.
In his befuddled state Flanagan saw nothing, until, after putting the light out, he came stumbling back again. He arrived in the lower room just in time to see the black head and shoulders of the mate emerging upward through the trap-door in the floor.
The mate was not in a good humour; moreover, he had turned out early without eating his breakfast, and his great black head and giant arms seemed supernatural in both vindictiveness and size.
Flanagan thought he had taken too much, and that the horrors were upon him at last. With a yell, he launched himself upon the seaman, taking him at a disadvantage, and endeavoured to smash him back into the void below.
But the mate was strong. He had come to the light expecting trouble. With a mighty effort he forced the keeper upward, and, amid a fierce snarling and threshing about, he soon engaged in a desperate struggle.
The “howler,” hearing the uproar, sprang to the rescue, and joined in the fray just as the sailors, following their trusty mate, climbed through the door. In less than five minutes the keepers were lashed fast, and were being lowered down through the door into the waiting boat below.
What remained of their spoil was also found and lowered after them; and in the bright light of the tropic sunrise the Sea-Horse put to sea, leaving the great tower of the Carysfort light to the westward.
For nearly a week no light was shown from the tower. Strangely enough, no one reported the light out.
The sixth day a sponger, sailing past at dark, noticed the absence of light, and went to the tower to see what was wrong.
He found it deserted, and, being a very poor man, he made his boat fast to the piles and took possession, enjoying the fare and taking care of the lantern in proper style for several days.
All might have gone well with him for several months, but for the fact that the supply-steamer was due, and arrived before he thought it time to make a getaway.
Finding the keepers missing, and no account made for them by the inhabitant, the officers promptly accused him of murdering them, and forthwith took him aboard the vessel to be carried ashore and tried. He was promptly convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to imprisonment for life.
Meanwhile, the Sea-Horse, having made the Bahamas, put the thieving keepers ashore to shift for themselves. After vainly trying to get passage back to their home, they finally managed to get a small boat and put to sea, to make the two hundred miles or more to the lighthouse.
They had been absent more than a month, and they arrived at Carysfort one sunny morning in time to see the two new keepers who had been appointed in their place take their whale-boat and start fishing along the reef to the northward of the tower.
Seizing the opportunity, they promptly gained the lighthouse and climbed into the landing, dropping the trap-door fast behind them.
The new keepers, seeing the strangers in possession of the tower, hailed them lustily, and started back to inquire their business.
For answer Flanagan leaned over the railing and gazed calmly down upon them with a quizzical look.
“What d’ye want?” inquired the tall keeper, in response to a hail.
“What are you doing in that light?” asked the new keeper.
“I am the keeper, and when you address me say ‘sir,’” roared the tall man in stentorian tones. “Tie that boat to the spiles and git away from here, or I’ll fall on top o’ ye.”
But the new keepers were not made of easy stuff. They gained the lower landing, and held forth under threats and persuasion for a day and a half, when the “howler,” getting tired of their proximity, began attacking them with hot water and other missiles, which he hove or dropped from the platform above.
The new keepers could not get up, but they determined that the men above should not get down, and they built a bomb-proof shelter to protect themselves until help should arrive.
After two days, they finally gave it up and started for Miami, where they arrived and reported the state of affairs.
The inspector came along, but found the two worthies sober, and attending strictly to their duties.
They explained how they had been attacked by a huge smuggling vessel bound for the North, and how, after a desperate fight, they finally had been overpowered, taken forcibly from their abode in the light, where they had been attending to their duties, and put ashore in the Bahamas.
They described how, after a tremendous exertion, they had managed to get back again, only to find two strangers in possession of the tower. Naturally, they treated them as trespassers and took charge. The light had been kept regularly ever since, and they had no fault to find with the job.
After listening to their tale, there was nothing to do but to leave them to their duties, for nothing could be found against them.
Their absence from the light would have enabled the inspector to give them their discharge, but they could prove they had not left of their own accord. The forepart of their story would necessarily remain in the dark, for they would not talk of it, and the crew of the Sea-Horse would rather have it kept quiet. Besides, it would be more than useless to try to find the vessel from their description. The tender steamed away for Miami to inform the authorities of the existence of the keepers.
“Virtue is usually triumphant,” said the inspector to the judge, who ordered the release of the convicted prisoner. “But in this case there seems to be an exception.”
“There are exceptions to every rule,” quoted the judge wisely. “Light-keepers are rare birds—trouble will probably not happen again—I would therefore sentence them to life imprisonment in—well, I reckon there is no worse place than the Carysfort light.”
“I don’t know but what you are right,” said the inspector.