For some time following their adventure with Warden Williams’ lobster patrol and their subsequent chase by the Fish Hawk, Ray and Jack were kept rather busy about the construction camp, for the lighthouse builders were working at full speed and taking advantage of the excellent August weather. Mr. Warner was staying awake all hours of the night, working out construction problems in his little office, and of course the two lads had to keep his place in order and do a great deal of checking up after these sessions of activity.

They paid daily visits to Cobra Head, also, to watch the progress of the work there, and during each of their visits they learned something new about the problems of erecting a sea-swept lighthouse. In spite of the excellent weather that the workmen had been blessed with, it seemed to the two lads that they were[189] making unusually slow progress. In truth, though they had been laboring a little more than six weeks there were but four courses of stone laid. Jack remarked about this to Mr. Warner on one occasion when the engineer had accompanied the boys to the rocks.

“Huh,” said Mr. Warner, “if you think that is slow just look up the construction records made on other lighthouses and you will understand what slow work is. We’ve been particularly fortunate here in being so well above the water. Why, there are some jobs where the tide and waves will only allow the men to work a few hours every month, and then they have to accomplish their task with one hand on a life-line, so to speak.

“Look at the conditions that the workmen were forced to contend with while building Minot’s Ledge light, for instance. The old rock was but three feet out of water at the best tide and the engineers had to build a steel structure over the ledge and attach life-lines to it and station a lookout to watch for big waves. When the lookout saw a large one coming which he knew would curl over the rock he shouted a warning and every man[190] grabbed his life-line and threw himself flat upon the rock to keep from being washed overboard. They always worked in wet clothes and they were mighty lucky to have whole legs and arms after a wave had passed. Why, they didn’t get in but 130 hours’ work the first year and it took five whole years to build the beacon.”

“Jiminy, that must have been some job,” said Jack.

“You bet it was,” assured Mr. Warner. “Why, they had to think of all sorts of tricks to keep old Neptune from beating them. When they were building the foundation on the ledge, they had to bring bags of sand out and construct veritable cofferdams about the spot that had been pared down to hold a building block. Then every time they put cement onto a block to hold the next one in place they had to put cheese cloth over the cement to keep stray waves from sneaking up and licking the block clear before the new block could be put in place.”

“Did they take the cheese cloth off before they put the next stone in position?” asked Ray.

[191]

“No, they let it stay. The cement oozed through the mesh of the cloth and gripped the block just the same,” said Mr. Warner.

“Hum, that’s a queer wrinkle,” said Jack.

“Well, we may do some of that work here the early part of the Fall when the tides run unusually high and the seas get to curling up on us. Yes, we’re mighty lucky in having the top of the Head so high above water. Also we have been fortunate so far as weather conditions are concerned. Goodness knows some lighthouse builders have had to fight storms almost all the time. Look at the crew that undertook to build the famous Tillemook light under Ballantyne. They fought the weather incessantly, and they even stuck to the rock during a blow that developed into a real tornado which smashed and carried away the storehouse in which their provisions were kept. It was several weeks before more provisions could be brought to them, and in the meantime all they had left was some hard bread and coffee and a little bacon. Those are conditions to work under, lads. Why, this is like dallying in the lap of luxury compared with Tillemook, Minot’s Ledge, Eddystone and the rest of the[192] difficult marine engineering stunts that have been undertaken.”

“Lighthouses have to be mighty strong structures, don’t they?” said Ray, who had been examining the way the heavy stones were interlocked, cemented, and then double fastened with iron “dogs.”

“Strong? I should say so,” assured the engineer. “Why, some of them have to stand wind and waves that tear solid stone to pieces. I remember hearing once of a light over in England, or Ireland, rather, on the Fastnet Rock, the first light steamships sight on their way to England. In a storm a big section of the rock itself, three tons or more it weighed, was torn loose, but before it could fall into the sea, a second wave seized it and hurled it into the air squarely against the lighthouse tower on the top of the rock.”

“Did the tower stand up under that?” exclaimed Jack in wide-eyed amazement.

“Yes, it did, and many another beating almost as bad. Why, they say that storms are so heavy over there that the tower trembles and sways under the force of wind and water. Cups have been jarred from the table to the[193] floor, glasses knocked down and broken, and many other disagreeable things have happened. Yet the tower stood up under it all and still stands, although there has been a new tower erected since. I think that one of the famous Stevensons had something to do with it.”

“Stevensons?” said Jack. “Oh, I’ve heard of them. They were related to the author, Robert Louis Stevenson, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Warner, “the author of Treasure Island came from a family of renowned lighthouse builders. There are many lights along the Scottish and English coast that stand as monuments to the skill of the author’s kinsmen. Among them are the Chicken Rock light on the Isle of Man and Skerryvore.”

“Tell us, Mr. Warner, have many lights been swept away into the sea by storms?” asked Jack, as he and Ray started to climb into the little cable-car that carried them over the aerial railway back to shore.

“Indeed, there have been many. Some have been swept away so completely that only a twisted steel bar or two remained to tell that a light once marked the spot. And always the keepers disappear with them for they are too[194] brave to desert their posts even in the face of death. Take the fate of the keepers of the Grand Manan, which was located not so very far north of here. The light and men disappeared in a storm and never were heard of again. The first Minot’s Ledge light in Boston harbor went the same way and with it went the keepers too. Oh, yes, many a brave man has gone to his death in the Lighthouse Service.”

Such little talks as these with the engineer and the workmen added interest to the boys’ life on the island and the days passed as if on wings. Captain Eli, the lighthouse keeper, also told them tales of the service and the lads spent many an hour in his company while he was on watch in the tower or off duty in his little cottage. Taking it all in all the boys were having quite a delightful time, and if it had not been for Ray’s periodical “blues” (as Jack called them) over his inability to fit another model of his non-sinkable lifeboat together, neither lad would have had a single thing to complain about.

As August wore on Ray’s blue spells occurred more often, however, for he realized[195] that in a few weeks or a month at best Jack would be leaving Hood Island to return to school, while he—well, he didn’t know exactly what he would do. From all appearances there would be no school for him, as much as he wanted to attend. Indeed, sometimes he grew quite beside himself with his unhappiness and it was all that Jack could do to change his frame of mind.

His lonesomeness was emphasized frequently too when a lighthouse tender put in at the island to bring additional supplies and any mail that was meant for the working men. On every visit of the mail steamer Jack was almost certain to have from two to a dozen letters from his father and schoolboy friends who were scattered over the country during the vacation period. But the pleasure of receiving letters was denied Ray simply because he had no friends and relatives in the outside world to communicate with him.

Aside from the visits of the lighthouse tender no vessels touched at the island at all. The lads, almost daily, saw the trails of black smoke above the horizon, left by transatlantic steamers traveling the water lanes across the[196] ocean, but usually these craft were hull down by the time they reached Hood Island. Fishing vessels bound for the banks were occasionally sighted also, and once in a while a stray swordfishing schooner or yawl would hover about the island for several hours in search of their elusive prey.

Once or twice the lads also sighted the trim little Betsy Anne, Mitchell’s boat, dancing on the waves far outside the reef. Since their adventurous two days with the timber-legged lobsterman the lads had always intended walking across the island and locating his house, but nearly two weeks passed before they could find time to pay him a visit.

And strangely enough, on the very day they had planned to cross the island (they had cleared up all their work and Mr. Warner had given them time off), the Betsy Anne came scudding up inside the reef, towing a dory. The small boat was piled high with lobster traps as was the cockpit of the little sloop, and the boys wondered what the old seaman was about.

From the edge of the cliff they hailed him while he was yet some distance off. And when[197] he saw them standing there he hallooed back, and then quite suddenly brought the Betsy Anne up into the wind and waved to them to come down to the beach.

When the boys had made their way down the winding path from the promontory to the sandy strip, the old lobsterman was waiting for them, having rowed ashore in his seemingly overloaded dory.

“Why, blime me; blime me and blow me, say I, where about are you younkers been a-keeping of yersel’s? Blow me an’ sink me, hif ’e ain’t t’ most onsociablest coves as ever was. Why’n’t ’e ever come fer t’ see Hole Mitch, I axe ye?”

“Why—well—you see—the truth is we were going to walk across the island some time to-day—truly we were—don’t grin like that as if you doubted us.”

“I ain’t given’ for t’ doubt ’e, I ain’t. But seein’ as ’ow I spends most o’ my days an’ considerable o’ my nights a-tryin’ fer t’ make a livin’ I ain’t t’ ’ome much. Like es not ye’d never been findin’ o’ me ’ome hif ye ’ad a-come ’crost. I’m hup at four, I are, and hout hin me hole Betsy Anne a-tendin’ o’ my traps ’till hits too dark fer t’ see.”

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“What are you doing up at this end of the island? I never saw you come up this way before,” said Jack.

“Right an’ so, right an’ so. Never does I come hup ’ere fer t’ fish, me bein’ given t’ string my traps hout to t’ sow’east’ard. But lobsterin’ been s’ poor hin my usu’l wisinity that I guest I’d try hout a score o’ traps to t’ nor’west’ard, seein’ as ’ow t’ bottom’s likely hout there. I’m goin’ fer t’ try hout these ’ere traps. That’s where I’m bound. Want t’ ship hon this ’ere cruis’, lads?”

“Do we? You bet we do. But—but, will that dory hold all of us? She’s loaded down now,” said Jack.

“Tut, tut, them traps is light. Come along, we’ll make a day of hit, er we’ll make as much o’ a day of hit as t’ weather ’ll let us, fer she’s goin’ t’ blow some this a’ternoon,” said Old Mitchell, making a place for the lads in the dory.

Presently the boys tumbled aboard the Betsy Anne and a few minutes later they were under way. Up along the island coast they sped, the tumultuous currents that slipped between the reef and the land making the little[199] sloop dance and yaw in surprising manner. As they sped past the promontory and plunged tossing and pitching through the line of breakers that marked the joining of the mill race of water with the ocean just off the point of the high promontory, Jack and Ray hallooed as loud as they could to the workmen on Cobra Head and waved a passing salute. Mr. Warner was on the rock and when he saw the lobsterman’s sloop go dancing by he took off his hat and waved a farewell to them.

Beyond the breaker line were the long rolling ground swells of the broad Atlantic, over which the little craft scudded swiftly. Out, out, oceanward they raced, the boys thoroughly enjoying the sail. For two miles to the northwest Old Mitchell kept a straight course and watched the water with critical eye. Finally, after he had prefaced his remarks by spitting over the side, he said:

“Well, ’ere’s es good a place es any fer t’ try a trap. ’Ow say ’e t’ puttin’ one ower t’ side?” Then heading the sloop into the wind he examined one of the traps in the stern of the Betsy Anne, and after seeing that the little mesh bag inside the slat-like prison was well[200] baited with dead fish he shoved it overboard. Two stones in the trap caused it to sink immediately and the lobsterman played out the warping line until he reached the point where a big stone jug was fastened. He examined the stopper in the jug to see that it was airtight, then tossed this over too, and a little later the black and white buoy, to which the end of the line was fastened. This floated away from the sloop, bobbing and dancing in a fascinating manner.

“There,” said Mitchell, “I ’opes as ’ow when I comes t’ see ’e t-morrer er t’ next day ye’ll ’ave a ’alf dozen o’ t’ biggest lobsters es ever was.”

“We hope the same,” said Ray with a grin.

“Thank ’e, lad, thank ’e,” said Mitchell. Then he added, “’Eavens knows I need ’em. This ’ere is t’ sheddin’ season and hits t’ blimdest time o’ year ever fer hus lobster coves.”

“Shedding season?” said Jack. “Do lobsters shed their shells too? I thought only crabs did.”

“They’re t’ sheddinest fish as ever was,” said the lobsterman. “I’ve ’ad ’em shed over night on me. Put a lot o’ big uns in t’ lobster car[201] one day an’ when I comes t’ wisit ’em t’ next day there’s ’alf o’ ’em just crawled hout o’ their shells. An’ they ain’t no good arter they’re shed neither. Just es soft es putty.”

“That’s mighty interesting,” said Jack. “Tell us something about lobsters, will you, Mr. Mitchell? How do they live? How fast do they grow? What do they—?”

“Tut, tut, not s’ fast, lad,” said Mitchell, holding up his hand. “Lo............