tion>
Francis Hopkinson Smith
Caleb West, Master Diver
Published by Good Press, 2021
EAN 4057664593221
Table of Contents
CHAPTER III—CAPTAIN BRANDT AT THE THROTTLE
CHAPTER IV—AMONG THE BLACKFISH AND TOMCODS
CHAPTER V—AUNTY BELL’S KITCHEN
CHAPTER VI—A LITTLE DINNER FOR FIVE
CHAPTER VII—BETTY’S FIRST PATIENT
CHAPTER VIII—THE “HEAVE HO” OF LONNY BOWLES
CHAPTER IX—WHAT THE BUTCHER SAW
CHAPTER X—STRAINS FROM BOCK’S 'CELLO
CHAPTER XI—CAPTAIN JOE’S TELEGRAM
CHAPTER XII—CAPTAIN JOE’S CREED
CHAPTER XVII—THE SONG OF THE FIRE
CHAPTER XVIII—THE EQUINOCTIAL GALE
CHAPTER XIX—FROM THE LANTERN DECK
CHAPTER XXI—THE RECORD OF NICKLES, THE COOK
CHAPTER XXIV—THE SWINGING GATE
CHAPTER XXV—UNDER THE PITILESS STARS
CHAPTER XXVI—CALEB TRIMS HIS LIGHTS
CHAPTER I—THE CAPE ANN SLOOP
The rising sun burned its way through a low-lying mist that hid the river, and flashed its search-light rays over the sleeping city. The blackened tops of the tall stacks caught the signal, and answered in belching clouds of gray steam that turned to gold as they floated upwards in the morning air. The long rows of the many-eyed tenements cresting the hill blinked in the dazzling light, threw wide their shutters, and waved curling smoke flags from countless chimneys.
Narrow, silent alleys awoke. Doors opened and shut. Single figures swinging dinner-pails, and groups of girls with baskets, hurried to and fro. The rumbling of carts was heard and shrill street cries.
Suddenly the molten ball swung clear of the purple haze and flooded the city with tremulous light. The vanes of the steeples flashed and blazed. The slanting roofs, wet with the night dew, glistened like silver. The budding trees, filling the great squares, flamed pink and yellow, their tender branches quivering in the rosy light.
Now long, deep-toned whistles—reveille of forge, spindle, and press—startled the air. Surging crowds filled the thoroughfares; panting horses tugged at the surface cars; cabs rattled over the cobblestones, and loaded trucks began to block the crossings.
The great city was astir.
At the sun’s first gleam, Henry Sanford had waked with joyous start. Young, alert, full of health and courage as he was, the touch of its rays never came too early for him. To-day they had been like the hand of a friend, rousing him with promises of good fortune.
Dressing with eager haste, he had hurried into the room adjoining his private apartments, which served as his uptown business office. Important matters awaited him. Within a few hours a question of vital moment had to be decided,—one upon which the present success of his work depended.
As he entered, the sunshine, pouring through the wide windows, fell across a drawing-table covered with the plans of the lighthouse he was then building; illumined a desk piled high with correspondence, and patterned a wall upon which were hung photographs and sketches of the various structures which had marked the progress of his engineering career.
But it was toward a telegram lying open on his desk that Sanford turned. He took it in his hand and read it with the quiet satisfaction of one who knows by heart every line he studies. It was headed Keyport, and ran as follows:—
To Henry Sanford, C. E., Washington
Square, New York.
Cape Ann sloop arrived and is a corker.
Will be at your uptown office in the morning.
Joseph Bell.
“Dear old Captain Joe, he’s found her at last!” he said to himself, and laughed aloud.
With a joyous enthusiasm that lent a spring and vitality to every movement, he stepped to the window and raised the sash to let in the morning air.
It was a gala-day for the young engineer. For months Captain Joe had been in search of a sloop of peculiar construction,—one of so light a draught that she could work in a rolling surf, and yet so stanch that she could sustain the strain of a derrick-boom rigged to her mast. Without such a sloop the building of the lighthouse Sanford was then constructing for the government on Shark Ledge, lying eight