Maryland independent. [volume] (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1874-current, 1883-05-04
THE BAR LIGHTHOUSE.


Government had for several years
been sadly neg.e ting a jobof mending
in the case Of the Liar. Lighthouse
bridge Here and there boards had
begun to spring suspiciously beneath
unwary footsteps; then the wind hal
begun to tear them of, and the rain TO
rot and molder them down. What
was every mans business was nobodys,
and no individual was disposed to
interfere with the province Of that alb
stract millionaire, the United states
! government. To be sure. the keeper
ofthe Bar light, Jackson Reed.w who was
naturally more sollCitouS concerning
the holding ont Of the structure than
any on else, had wildly and fruitlessly
patched some of the worst places, Off
and on, after a hard "northeaster,"
when lie awoae more keenlv to the
eXigencies Of the case and the hopeless
diIatoriness Of his task-master. But it
had amounted to very little. Long
neglect had made something more than
mere patching ne essary. Now the
quarter-mi!e bridge leading to the
Bar lighthouse, if not in an ALSO
lutely unsafe condition, was not Calcu-
lated to inspire any degree of conf
dence in the undccustomed croSser at
least. 1t was not quite 50 bad at low
tide, or on a mild still day. There
was not much to fear then beyond a
little fall and aducking; that is, if one
cleared one of those ragged apertures
successfully. But on a dark night,
with the winds howling over it, and
the ocean laundering beneath it, it
was the sort of Il bridge that only a
disenbodied spirit could be supposed to
cross with any degree Of nonchalance.
The lighthouse itself was only an
ordinary dwelling-louse, strongly
built, with a tower for the light. 1t
stood on a massive pile Of rocks, with
little tufts of coarse veg. Jation in the
clefts. Jackson Reed, who had an UNI
fortunate love and longing for u gar
den spot, had actually wheeled enough
earth over from the mainland for a
little patch few yards square, and
when he was not engaged in a fruitless
struggle with the broken bridge he
was engaged in fru.tless struggle
with his garden. A pottering old man
was Jackson Reed, lacking in nervous
force and quickness of intellect: but
he had never let the light go out, and
the only thing that is absolutely re-
! CURED Of lighthouse keeper is to
keep the light burning for the sailors
who steered hy it.
The wonder was that his wife Sarah
should have been his wife. She was a
person not of a different mold merely,
but of different kind; not of a differ
I ent species, but a different genus.
Nervous and alert, what her husband
accepted in patient silence she received
with shrill remonstrance and question
ing. Her husband patched the bridge,
crawling over its long reach on his Old
knees she rallied, as she watched him.
at the neglect of government. Heun-
complainingly brushed the sand from
his little puny, strugg ing plants, and
she set her thin face against the wind
that cast it there.
In both, the religious element or ca st
of mind was strongly predominant,
but Jackson Reed simply looked out
on nature and into his soul, and took
in as plain incontroyertibe facts the
broken bridge the tossing sea, his lit
tie Wind-swept, sand-strlwn garden
patch, and God in heaven. Neither
proved the other or nullitied the other;
they were simply there. But Sarah
Reed, looking cut on the frail, unsafe
bridge which connected them with the
mainland, and the mighty, sen seless
sea which had swallowed up her father
and brother whom she had idolized,
and the poor little tender green things
trying to live under her window, had
seen in them so many dumb animals
of either Gods love and mercy or His
existence. She WAS rheumatic old
woman now, almost helpless, in fact,
unable tostep without the help of her
husband. And she sat, day in and
day out, at one of the sea-windows Of
her sitting-room knitting
The minister at Rye, u a!ous young
man, with an innocent confidence in
his powers of holy argument, had
visited her repeatedly, with the view
of improving her state of mind! But
even his tonguey confidence and in
genuousness could CLEAN but little sat
isfaction from his interviews with the
rheumatic and unbelieying old woman.
"No, Mr.. Pendleton," she used to
say, shaking thin rheumatic hand,
with an impressiyeness which her
hearer might have copied advan-
tageously in the pulpit, 'it amt no
use. You can talk about seein' with
the spirit, an worshipin' with the
spirit; anybody needs little some
thin to catch hold on with the flesh
when it's all spirit it's too much for
mortal bein' to comprehend, an the
Lord knows l amt never had anything
but spirit. l amt never had any eyi-
dence, so to speak amt never had
prayer answered in my life. Here |
am, an old woman, an me an Jack
sons lived here on this rock for forty
year. An thar's been things I've
wanted different, but ! amt never had
'em-things that Pve cried an grOaned
an prayed to the Lord for-big things
an little things-but | never got one.
IF the Lord had given me one of the
little things, it seems to me that |
might have got feeling that He was
here.
Forty year ago, when Jackson an
me was Jest married an set up house
ke,pin' here, thar was an awful storm
one night, an my father and my
brother was out yonder in it. l staid
on my knees all night prayin'. The
next moInin' their two darlin' bodies
was shed ashore. My brother had
only been m lrried a few months-the
sweetest, loyingest little thing she was.
She bngan to pile Iprayed to hev her
srared Sho died, an left her little
haI.u