I'm a fan of Rudyard Kipling! (Read my blog "Kipling's Love of Lighthouses here.) His story, "The Disturber of Traffic" has a lighthouse theme. It's an peculiar tale, part tragedy and part comedy. It's very "Kiplingish." He loved the sea and ships and lighthouses.
Below, Amazon describes the Kindle edition of the story, which is sold here.
This British “poet of Empire” was born in Bombay, India, in 1865. He was sent to England for school, then re-joined his parents in India in l881, where he wrote for Anglo-Indian newspapers. From that time until his death in 1936, he traveled widely in India and then the world, covering the far-flung British Empire and writing almost continuously: poems (“Mandalay,” “If,” “Gunga Din”), children’s books (Kim, The Jungle Book), novels (Captains Courageous), and always, short stories. He glorified the idea of empire as “the white man’s burden.”
In l892, he married Caroline Balestier and they set off for an around-the-world honeymoon. Their bank failed while they were in Japan, so they made their way to Brattleboro, Vermont, where Balestier’s relatives lived. They stayed for four years. Then it was back to England, where Kipling’s popularity soared. In 1907, he won the Nobel Prize for Literature, the first for an English writer. In the last year of his life, he wrote his autobiography, Something of Myself, which was published posthumously.
The Atlantic Monthly published Kipling’s short story “The Disturber of Traffic” in l891, a year before he came to Vermont, as he was gaining fame. It is classic Kipling: the narrator convinces a lighthouse keeper on the foggy southern English coast to let him spend the night “and help to scare the ships into mid-channel.” The keeper of the light passes the time by telling a story. After setting the scene—“The light-frame of the thousand lenses circled on its rollers and the compressed-air engine that drove it hummed like a bluebottle under a glass”—Kipling has the two men settle in, and the central story unfolds. It takes place many years before, when another keeper is assigned to an isolated lighthouse on the island of Flores, in the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), where “those currents is never yet known to mortal man … They chop and they change, and they banks the tides fust on one shore and then on another, till your ship’s tore in two.”
Slowly, deliberately, Kipling describes the loneliness that plagues the keeper of this far outpost, his only companion a native who spends all his time in the water or “skipping about the beach along with the tigers at low tide, for he was most part a beast.” Kipling takes his time describing the keeper’s descent into madness, and the peculiar form that madness takes; he leaves the reader with the feeling that the story may well have been based in fact. It is presented here just as it originally appeared in The Atlantic Monthly, dialect and all.
From fineartamerica.com
________________________________________________ You can find the story in PDF form on the web. Enjoy!
This is an excerpt from the U.S. Lighthouse Society Historian's news. I've long been disappointed with the manner in which U.S. Fish & Wildlife cares for its lighthouses. Only a few are well-kept and their historic integrity preserved. This one at Hams Bluff on St. Croix is so historic it must be saved. The U.S. Virgin Islands deserves the same funding and care for its historic landmarks.as any of the U.S. states or other U.S. territories..
The hike to the Hams Bluff Lighthouse is a moderate one. Photo courtesy of authors.
The road seemed almost impassable: deep ruts, numerous potholes, nonexistent markings, very spotty pavement and pools of water were presenting a challenge not only to the suspension on our car but to our spinal cords! We began to question how the local government could even assign a number (route 63) to this road!
We were on the island of St. Croix, a United States territory with a distinctly Caribbean feel. Our destination was the seldom-visited Hams Bluff Lighthouse. After miles of steadily deteriorating road conditions, we arrived at the end of Route 63 and parked in front of the National Guard facility. The rest of the way would be on foot.
Hams Bluff Lighthouse ca. 1936. HABS photo courtesy of Library of Congress
The hike to the Hams Bluff Lighthouse is a moderate one. In the tropical heat and humidity it is important to take water and to take breaks along the way. The trail to the lighthouse is all uphill for about 30 minutes, winding its way through brush, tall grass, and tropical forest. Because the conditions on the trail vary greatly, it’s a good idea to wear sturdy footwear and long pants. Sunscreen, a hat, sunglasses and insect repellent are highly recommended.
Before long, though, the canopy of vegetation gives way to blue sky and this is the sign that you have almost reached the summit of the bluff. Rounding a final turn in the trail, we caught our first glimpse of the Hams Head Lighthouse.
Our hearts dropped.
St. Croix’s Hams Bluff Lighthouse. Photo courtesy of the authorsRust detail on exterior. Photo courtesy of authors
There before us was the rusting hulk of this once handsome and useful lighthouse. Standing on a cement platform, the 35-foot tower stood in the baking sun atop this bluff overlooking the Caribbean Sea and its deteriorating condition was immediately evident. Huge streaks of rust stains ran down its sides, the rails on the cupola were broken in spots and several areas of the tower had completely decayed through to the inside.
Interior with stairs. Photo courtesy of the authors
The door was ajar and we could make our way inside to a dank, soggy interior. The floor consisted of a crunchy layer of fallen iron and steel flakes, and the walls were all desecrated with thoughtless graffiti. A short ladder led to the second level of the lighthouse, and once upstairs we were reluctant to walk around for fear of falling through the rapidly crumbling floor. We could see from this level, however, the wonderful views of the sea and the bluff, and could easily imagine the usefulness of this lone sentinel when it was in operation.
The Hams Bluff Lighthouse was built in 1915 by the Danish government, who owned this island at the time, and was originally operated by lighthouse keeper A.L.F.L. Madsen.
The lighthouse was constructed with cast iron on a concrete foundation and was originally painted white with a black cupola. It was built atop the Hams Bluff, which rises to a height of about 360 feet above sea level, to help mariners navigate safely around the west end of the island and into Fredericksted Harbor. Shortly after it was built, the Danish West Indies were sold to the United States. St. Croix, along with St. Thomas and St. John, became United States territories and at this point the U.S. Coast Guard took over operation of the lighthouse. In the mid-1990s, the lighthouse was deactivated.
In 2010, a skeleton tower was built alongside the abandoned lighthouse and it currently operates two white flashes every 30 seconds. Photo courtesy of the authors
We stood on the bluff with the cooling breeze coming up over the hills from the water. It felt good after our strenuous and sweaty climb to this point. The views of nearby Annaly Bay and Davis Bay were stunning. But we could not shake the melancholy feeling of sadness over the condition of this poor, once proud lighthouse. Clearly it has been deteriorating for years in the harsh salty environment atop the bluff. With every hour of searing tropical sun we could imagine another flake of iron falling off the side of the tower. Neglected, forgotten, abandoned this lighthouse will soon crumble into the soil of the bluff. There have been some efforts to preserve this remnant of history but so far nothing has really resulted in any progress.
Honestly, we wonder if it’s too far gone anyway at this point.
The area surrounding and including the bluff has another, darker component of history that is also fading away into the recesses of time. Maroon Ridge is the geological feature that the area takes its name from, and during the time of Danish ownership of the island, a community of slaves was known to be here in an area the Danes referred to as Maroonberg. According to historical accounts, a particularly brutal form of slavery was operated on St. Croix, with runaway slaves severely and publically beaten and tortured. Runaways often headed for this remote area and used it as a way to leave for Puerto Rico. Thousands fled the plantations in search of freedom, and many would eventually pass through Maroon Ridge. Many were recaptured by the Danes, but many more committed suicide rather than face recapture. Documents indicate that only 300 brave and desperate slaves ever made it to Puerto Rico and to freedom.
The view from the lantern room. Photo courtesy of authors
We sat in silence, our thoughts wandering through the pages of the past to imagine a time when lighthouse keepers tended to this lighthouse and mariners depended upon its service. We contemplated the desperation of the runaway slaves who passed through here long before this lighthouse had ever been built. And we were struck by the history that lies embedded in these hills and forests, a history that is fading with each passing year.
We then stood up, bid the lighthouse good bye and began our hike down the bluff and back to our car. Along the way, a tear mixed with our sweat and dropped to the forest floor, a token of our concern for this neglected lighthouse on St. Croix and a measure of our respect for the slaves who passed through these hills. As we walked away, we stole one final glance at the lighthouse that still maintains its dignity despite years of neglect. And we wished it well.
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U.S. Lighthouse Society News is produced by the U.S. Lighthouse Society to support lighthouse preservation, history, education and research. Please consider joining the U.S. Lighthouse Society if you are not already a member. If you have items of interest to the lighthouse community and its supporters, please email them to candace@uslhs.org.
Point Betsie Lighthouse in Michigan is among my favorites. It's more than the beauty of the place, its changing tableau throughout the year, and its rich history. It's about experiences. Memorable experiences always add to the wonder of a place.
Photo of the Aurora Borealis over Point Betsie Lighthouse by Dennis Buchner
My first visit to Point Betsie was in the fall of 2000 when I attended the Great Lakes Lighthouse Festival. Jon and took our little motorhome to Michigan and visited a number of lighthouses on both shores before stopping at Alpena for the festival. Lighthouse Kitty was with us. She was a good little traveler, though I doubt she knew the significance of all the places she had been. We drove the narrow dirt road back to the Point Betsie Lighthouse (it might be paved now) and parked at the end. The road simply stopped, and Jon did some tricky maneuvers to get the motorhome turned around. Lighthouse Kitty jumped onto the roomy dashboard when the motor stopped, aiming to take a nap in the warm autumn sun.
A picture of a picture-taker! Jon photographed me taking a picture of Point Betsie, with a wave tumbling over the seawall just in front of me and the wind styling my hair. It was a lovely autumn day in Michigan!
We walked the grounds and took scads of pictures. The beacon blinked a hello and a good-bye. Steady, reliable, emotive. Lighthouse beacons always affect my senses, reminding me of all the kind and solicitous meanings they possess. Wind rustled the grasses and bent back the shrubs and trees. High clouds stretched across the heavens, shaped by the high currents. I wondered if this place ever experienced a calm. A friendly red dog followed us as we toured the site. Animal lover that I am, I petted and chatted with him. He seemed happy to be greeted so fondly. I'm sure, if dogs could talk, he could have told me many interesting things about Point Betsie. Did he belong to a caretaker? A neighbor? Was he a stray? Or, like Jon and I, was he just visiting for a short time? When it was time for us to leave, he followed me to the door of the motorhome, as if he thought he might go with us. The map on the side of the motorhome had many state stickers on it, suggesting travels aplenty. I went to the tiny kitchen and fetched a piece of lunch meat. Jon grinned, pointing out that Red Dog, as we'd named him, looked well-fed. But I am a giver. Red Dog enjoyed the morsels and took them gently from my hand. A dog with manners!
Another peculiar shot was taken by Jon, who photographed me snapping a picture of Red Dog racing us as we left Point Betsie.
As we fired up the motorhome, Red Dog took off ahead of us, running at top speed. Was he showing us the way out. Or did he think he'd follow us to our next stop? I snapped a photo of him speeding along the side of the road. He had been our welcoming committee and was our farewell committee too.
Dennis Buchner capture Point Betsie in her winter wear! You can purchase his photos at Fine Art America.
At the end of the dirt access road, Red Dog stopped. I waved as we passed him. He lingered a long time, wagging his tail and watching us go, before he turned and trotted back toward the light station.
Photo by Anne Chapman
Beautiful Point Betsie Lighthouse was named by the French--Pointe Aux Bec Scies. The French name was mined from a native name that referred to the sawbill ducks (Mergansers) that lived nearby. The lighthouse was built in 1854-1858 and first signaled to mariners in 1859, marking the route to Manitou Passage.
Point Betsie Lighthouse in 1895, from the National Archives.
The lens, courtesy of www.pointbetsie.org
An aerial Coast Guard photo shows the bulwarks protecting Point Betsie Lighthouse from erosion.
Today, the lighthouse offers overnight accommodations. It also has a nice museum in the quarters. To find out more, go to the lighthouse website.
Accommodations at Point Betsie, from www.pointbetsie.org
