Caleb West, Master Diver. Francis Hopkinson Smith

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       Francis Hopkinson Smith

      Caleb West, Master Diver

      Published by Good Press, 2021

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664593221

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I—THE CAPE ANN SLOOP

       CHAPTER II—A MORNING’S MAIL

       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 XIII—A SHANTY DOOR

       CHAPTER XIV—TWO ENVELOPES

       CHAPTER XV—A NARROW PATH

       CHAPTER XVI—UNDER THE WILLOWS

       CHAPTER XVII—THE SONG OF THE FIRE

       CHAPTER XVIII—THE EQUINOCTIAL GALE

       CHAPTER XIX—FROM THE LANTERN DECK

       CHAPTER XX—AT THE PINES

       CHAPTER XXI—THE RECORD OF NICKLES, THE COOK

       CHAPTER XXII—AFTER THE BATTLE

       CHAPTER XXIII—A BROKEN DRAW

       CHAPTER XXIV—THE SWINGING GATE

       CHAPTER XXV—UNDER THE PITILESS STARS

       CHAPTER XXVI—CALEB TRIMS HIS LIGHTS

CHAPTER I—THE CAPE ANN SLOOP

       Table of Contents

      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