BY A. J. ENSIGN.

A cold biting west wind was blowing. The sea close under the beach was smooth and steel blue, and the breakers reared their white crests slowly, falling in dull booms of muttered thunder. Beyond the rollers a wide expanse of ice-hard gray water swept away to the iron line of the horizon, where strange shapes of writhing billows tossed against the glow of the rising moon. Half a dozen stars of the first magnitude swam in moisture in the zenith, and far away in the west a smudge of black cloud, touched on its lower edge with blood red, kept the record of the swift winter sunset.

"It will blow from the south'ard and east'ard afore mornin', an' it'll snow," said the light-house keeper, as he peered out into the growing gloom, pierced as it was by the rays of the lamp which he had set burning half an hour before.

"Ay," said his a.s.sistant, "an' we'll have fog, too, I'm thinkin'."

"Well, get steam up for the siren, an' stan' by fur trouble afore dawn."

The predictions of both men came true. Before two o'clock in the morning the wind had shifted to the southeast, and was blowing a gale. Great tangled ma.s.ses of brown cloud were flying across the sky at terrific speed, and in and out of the rifts shot the red moon flaming like a comet. The breakers no longer reared and fell slowly, but hurled themselves in shrieking ma.s.ses of foam upon the stricken beach. A yelling as of ten thousand evil spirits surrounded the caged lantern; but the great yellow light blazed out its warning upon the black waters.

But not for long; for out of the southeast swept the impenetrable gray fog that no light could pierce. Then the hoa.r.s.e moaning blast of the steam-siren sent its cry of warning out over the raging waters. At four o'clock the gale was terrific, and ever and anon the shriek of a steam-whistle told that some vessel was groping her way toward the entrance to the harbor. Suddenly the whistle burst into a series of rapid screams.

"Wake up, Tom!" shouted the a.s.sistant keeper, who was on watch. "There's a tug out yonder that's parted the hawser of her tow."

The keeper sprang to his feet and listened to the despairing screams of the whistle out in the fog.

"You're right!" he exclaimed. "And whatever's gone adrift'll be ash.o.r.e in less than an hour. They'll never hear those whistles at the station with the wind in this quarter."

He jumped to the telephone and called up the life-saving station a mile above.

"There's a tug off here," he said, "and she's lost her tow."

"All right," came the answer; "we'll look out for 'em."

[Ill.u.s.tration: TAKEN ASh.o.r.e IN A BREECHES-BUOY.]

Half an hour later a big three-masted coal barge, which thirty years earlier had been an English bark, was in the breakers half a mile above the life-saving station; but owing to the sharp lookout for her, all her people, three men, a boy, and a woman, were taken ash.o.r.e safely in the breeches buoy. At sunup the other barge, which had been in tow of the tug, was seen three miles offsh.o.r.e hove to under her leg-of-mutton canvas. She was picked up by an incoming steamer, and towed into the harbor.

That is a sample of the experience of a light-house keeper whose light is on the land. He has a comparatively comfortable berth; but all lights are not so pleasantly situated. Some are situated at considerable distances from the sh.o.r.e, on dangerous reefs. Most of the houses so situated are built on iron-screw piles, like those at Thimble Shoals, Virginia, Fowey Rocks, Alligator Reef, and Sombrero Key, Florida. These houses stand on iron legs, which are screwed down into the rocks on the bottom, and the keeper's only means of leaving his confined dwelling is by the boat, which swings at davits, as it would aboard a ship. It has been found that a light-house built in this manner will stand the shocks of heavy weather much better than one made of solid masonry. The storm wave of the Atlantic Ocean travels at the rate of about thirty miles an hour, and when one of these waves, towering from fifteen to thirty-five feet, strikes an obstacle, such as a light-house, it deals a blow whose force can be measured only in hundreds of tons. The iron-screw pile-house, however, is elevated far enough above the level of the sea to escape the blows of the waves, which meet with no greater resistance than that offered by the slender legs of the structure.

Let us imagine the experience of a keeper of one of these lights in a great storm. It is September. All day the sea has been deathly calm, but with a slow swell of ominous breadth and weight. The sky has been of a dead gray color, and has seemed to hang so low that one might almost reach it from the top of the lantern. Toward night the wind begins to come in fitful gusts that moan around the light-house like the voices of warning spirits. The keeper goes out on the balcony and looks anxiously around the horizon. He knows that they are in for a bad night, and he knows that even iron-screw light-houses have been carried away in great gales. But he goes calmly and carefully about his work. He sees that the boat and all other objects outside the house are well secured. He sees the lamp well supplied with oil and trimmed wicks. He gives the lenses and reflectors a few more affectionate rubs, and as the sun goes down fire-red into a crimson sea he lights the wicks and goes down to his supper.

The gusts of wind outside increase in number and in force. Strange shriekings and moanings break from the crannies of the light-house. It is blowing half a gale now, and the sea is beginning to rise. Fiercer and fiercer become the blasts. The light-house begins to vibrate like a fiddle. A strange humming, as of the giant strings of some enormous aeolian harp, is added to the shriller screams of the wind. It is the gale singing through the iron legs and braces of the structure. And now a squall more violent than any that have preceded it comes yelling across the sea. It tears the foaming crests off half a dozen waves, and sends them swirling down to leeward in shivering sheets of snowy spoondrift. With fearful force the blast strikes the light-house, at the same time hurling some of the spoondrift against its weather side with a crash. What was that? Did the whole building sway?

The keeper shuts his lips tightly and goes up to look at the lamp. It is burning brightly. He descends again, and puts on his oil-skins and sou'wester. Waiting for a lull in the gale, he bolts out upon the balcony, hastily closing the door behind him. For a moment he stands, clinging with all his might to the iron railing, while the mad wind seems to try to strip his clothing from him. How the building trembles under the furious a.s.saults of the wind! What an awful roar the conflicting elements make around its iron walls! The keeper's eyes are half blinded by the driving rain and salt spray. But he can see by the light of the faithful lamp above him towering walls of black and shining water sweeping down out of the fathomless darkness beyond as if to engulf his little refuge. They rush forward and disappear within the circle of gloom below the light, and the next instant he hears them hissing and shrieking around the st.u.r.dy iron leg.

There! There is the monster wave of all, heaving its mighty crest twenty-five feet, so that the keeper sees it level with his eyes as he gazes, fascinated. It is coming, it is coming. Ah, it is too big to pa.s.s the reef without breaking. See! It has toppled over, and goes boiling under the gallery in a wild ma.s.s of ghostly foam. The keeper shivers a little, shakes his head, and goes back to his warm room, muttering a prayer for the safety of the sailors on the sea. You and I would mutter one for our own, perhaps, if we stood on a swaying balcony above a storm-torn ocean.

Before morning the keeper hears the report of a gun. He knows too well the meaning of that sound. It is a signal of distress. He rushes out on the balcony again, and sees the dim form of a dismasted ship driving upon the reef. What can he do? Not a thing. He calls up his a.s.sistants, and they helplessly watch the vessel strike. They hear the cries of her people. They see the waves burst over her in great clouds of seething spray. Suddenly one of the men utters a shout.

"See! There's a spar driving down on us with some one on it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A RESCUE FROM THE LIGHT.]

Now the keeper and his a.s.sistants can do something, and they move with the rapidity of men whose wits are accustomed to the emergencies of the deep. Projecting from one side of the house is an iron arm, at the end of which hang a block and tackle. This is used for hoisting supplies from the boat which brings them off. Quickly a line is fastened around the hook at the bottom of the tackle. This is to give the shipwrecked mariner something by which to hold. The broken and half-buried spar sweeps down toward the light-house. Two men are clinging to it with the strength of despair. The tackle is lowered, and as the spar drives against one of the stout iron legs of the light-house one of the two men catches the rope, and is quickly hauled up to the gallery. At once the tackle is lowered again, and the other man is hauled up. Half blind, half drowned, staggering with exhaustion, they are taken into the house where warm drinks and dry clothing revive them. Then they sit beside the stove and tell the dreadful story of the wreck, while the howling of the wind, the thunder of the seas, and the swaying of the house remind them all that the storm still rages without.

Finally the great gale ends, and gradually the sea goes down. The shipwrecked seamen are anxious to reach land, and the light-house keeper, upon whose stores two extra mouths make serious inroads, is willing to have them go. Late in the afternoon of the third day they see smoke on the horizon. By-and-by the smoke appears to rise from a little black speck. Gradually the speck grows larger, and at length it a.s.sumes the outlines of a small steam-vessel.

"That's her," says the keeper. "Now you'll be able to get ash.o.r.e."

"Is it the tender?" asks one of the wrecked sailors.

"Yes," says the keeper. "She was due here just about the time the gale set in."

[Ill.u.s.tration: RECEIVING SUPPLIES IN CALM WEATHER.]

It is the stanch little light-house tender, whose duty it is to visit the various lights in her district, and replenish their supplies. Many a rough time she has at sea, and many a narrow escape; but the pressing necessities of the keepers of the isolated lights embolden the captains of tenders to brave many dangers. The tender is alongside the light-house in due time, and the tackle which so lately saved human lives hoists up boxes of provisions, cans of oil, and other articles.

The two shipwrecked sailors are put aboard the tender to be landed at the nearest port, and in a short time the little vessel is once more a smudge of smoke upon the horizon.

And so let us bid good-by to the light-house and the keeper. We know now that he is a brave and faithful fellow, who, if need be, will lower away his little boat, and pull to the rescue of those in danger. We know that in spring and in summer, in autumn and in winter, in calm or storm, in clear weather or in fog, in health or in sickness, he will be found always at his post, always at his duty. We know that when the skies are clear, and the sea smooth, and the stars bright, the lamp will burn and send its gentle yellow rays out upon the inky waters to guide the mariner over the trackless sea. We know that when the gray curtain of the fog hides the light, the hoa.r.s.e scream of the steam-siren or brazen clang of the fog-bell will echo over the water, and warn the sailor against hidden dangers. For always and everywhere the light-house keeper is a brave, honest, faithful man; humble, indeed, but the reliance and the guide of "those who go down to the sea in ships."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

This Department is conducted in the interest of Amateur Photographers, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor Camera Club Department.

PAPERS FOR BEGINNERS, No. 6.

SIMPLE DEVELOPMENT.

A girl who was taking her first lesson in developing said that developing was dozens of "whens" and "ifs," and one must learn them all at once or else spoil all one's plates.

Our first directions for development will not be with the kind of pictures which the beginner usually takes, but the kind he ought to take, and which are simplest and easiest to develop. These are time landscape pictures.

By time pictures is meant those which are taken with a short-time exposure instead of with a drop-shutter in bright sunlight. The day for making a successful time picture is when the sky is slightly clouded and the light soft, so that there are no deep shadows.

The picture being made, and everything ready for development, remove the plate from the holder and lay it face up in the tray. Turn the developer--which is ready in the gla.s.s graduate--quickly over the plate, taking great care that the whole surface is flooded instantly. If the developer is not applied uniformly patches will appear on the negative which print darker, the dark spots being where the developer did not reach the plate as quickly as it did the other parts.

As soon as the developer has covered the plate, move the tray gently to and fro, tipping it this way and that, but not enough to expose the plate. In about a half-minute the high lights will begin to appear. The high lights are those parts of the plate which have been exposed to the strongest light, and which will show white, or light, in the printed picture. The sky, which has reflected the strongest light, will appear first. It will show as black patches here and there at one edge of the plate.

By the time the sky is well out other objects will begin to show, those which were in the deepest shadow will be the longest coming out. After the image is well defined on the plate, lift it carefully from the tray and look through it toward the light, holding rather near the lantern so as to see if the detail is out.

To explain what is meant by detail, we will suppose that there is a ma.s.s of shrubbery in the picture. If this part of the picture is developed far enough, the lights and shadows and the forms of the bushes will show when the plate is looked at against the light, but if the gla.s.s is clear there is no detail, and the development has not been carried far enough.

It must be put back in the developer and allowed to remain longer.

When the plate has been sufficiently developed, which will be in from three to five minutes, the yellow color will begin to fade, and the outlines, which have been quite sharp, will grow dim. At this point, if one looks at the plate the picture can be quite distinctly seen on the back.

Take the plate from the developer, rinse it thoroughly in clean water, and place it, film side up, in the tray of hypo solution, which is made by dissolving 1 oz. of hyposulphite of soda in 4 oz. of water.

This bath, which is usually called the fixing-bath, though the proper term would be clearing-bath, removes from the negative the sensitive silver salts which have not been affected by light or by development, and makes the image permanent. After the plate has remained in the clearing-bath for five minutes it will be found on looking at the back of the plate that the yellow color has almost entirely disappeared, leaving on the gla.s.s the clear image of the landscape. The plate should remain in the hypo for ten minutes, so that the salts of silver may be thoroughly dissolved, or the plates will look streaked, and will not make satisfactory prints.

The plate must next be washed to remove all traces of hypo. Hypo stains the negative, and if not thoroughly washed out is apt to form again in crystals and ruin the negative.

An hour is long enough to wash the negative in running water, and two hours, with four or five changes of water, where there is no running water. When the negative has been washed long enough, take a small wad of soft cotton, and holding both plate and cotton in the water wipe the film gently with the cotton to remove any dirt which may have settled in the film. If one has no drying-rack set the plate on a shelf, with the film side toward the wall to avoid the settling of dust in the film.