Jack Straw, lighthouse builder

Front matter

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT.

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Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I Jack Receives a Telegram .... i

II “Hood Island — Ho!” 13

Chapter I

J ACK 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. 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.”

'Tine,” 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 sixteenyear-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 Ai 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.

“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 ofif 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 ii 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!”

O F 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. 13

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

'HOOD ISLAND — HO !”

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

'HOOD ISLAND— HO ! !

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, sunbrowned 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

HOOD ISLAND — HO !”

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 Plarbor, 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,

'HOOD ISLAND— HO ! !

“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 Blueilower 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

'HOOD ISLAND— HO ! !

few moments later the men on the dock cast off, and with whistle shrieking the Blueilower 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, “havin g 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 Blueiiower 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 f HOOD ISLAND— HO ! 5 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 ?”