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STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS

POLISH, GREEK, BELGIAN, HUNGARIAN

THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL BY HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

THE PLAIN SISTER BY DEMETRIOS BIKELAS

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS BY MAURICE MAETERLINCK

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE BY CAMILLE LEMONNIER

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA BY MAURICE JOKAI



THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL

BY

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

From "Yanko the Musician and other Stories." Translated by Jeremiah
Curtin. Published by Little, Brown & Co.

Copyright, 1893, by Little, Brown & Co.





CHAPTER I


On a time it happened that the light-house keeper in Aspinwall, not far
from Panama, disappeared without a trace. Since he disappeared during a
storm, it was supposed that the ill-fated man went to the very edge of
the small, rocky island on which the light-house stood, and was swept
out by a wave. This supposition seemed the more likely as his boat was
not found next day in its rocky niche. The place of light-house keeper
had become vacant. It was necessary to fill this place at the earliest
moment possible, since the light-house had no small significance for
the local movement as well as for vessels going from New York to
Panama. Mosquito Bay abounds in sandbars and banks. Among these
navigation, even in the daytime, is difficult; but at night, especially
with the fogs which are so frequent on those waters warmed by the sun
of the tropics, it is nearly impossible. The only guide at that time
for the numerous vessels is the light-house.

The task of finding a new keeper fell to the United States consul
living in Panama, and this task was no small one: first, because it was
absolutely necessary to find the man within twelve hours; second, the
man must be unusually conscientious,--it was not possible, of course,
to take the first comer at random; finally, there was an utter lack of
candidates. Life on a tower is uncommonly difficult, and by no means
enticing to people of the South, who love idleness and the freedom of a
vagrant life. That light-house keeper is almost a prisoner. He cannot
leave his rocky island except on Sundays. A boat from Aspinwall brings
him provisions and water once a day, and returns immediately; on the
whole island, one acre in area, there is no inhabitant. The keeper
lives in the light-house; he keeps it in order. During the day he gives
signals by displaying flags of various colors to indicate changes of
the barometer; in the evening he lights the lantern. This would be no
great labor were it not that to reach the lantern at the summit of the
tower he must pass over more than four hundred steep and very high
steps; sometimes he must make this journey repeatedly during the day.
In general, it is the life of a monk, and indeed more than that,--the
life of a hermit. It was not wonderful, therefore, that Mr. Isaac
Falconbridge was in no small anxiety as to where he should find a
permanent successor to the recent keeper; and it is easy to understand
his joy when a successor announced himself most unexpectedly on that
very day. He was a man already old, seventy years or more, but fresh,
erect, with the movements and bearing of a soldier. His hair was
perfectly white, his face as dark as that of a Creole; but, judging
from his blue eyes, he did not belong to a people of the South. His
face was somewhat downcast and sad, but honest. At the first glance he
pleased Falconbridge. It remained only to examine him. Therefore the
following conversation began:

"Where are you from?"

"I am a Pole."

"Where have you worked up to this time?"

"In one place and another."

"A light-house keeper should like to stay in one place."

"I need rest."

"Have you