FOREST AND STREAM. 
Oct. 7, igoS-J 
Two Nights on Faulkner Island* 
About ioo miles east of New York, and just off the 
’ Connecticut coast, lie three small islands five miles from 
the main land. Faulkner Island, the largest of the three, 
I having on it a light station showing a revolving white 
: light and a fog horn as well, for use in thick weather. 
I This island is about one mile in length and quite napow, 
i running north and south. West of this island, a mile or 
I more, are two smaller ones — Goose Island, and a few 
: rods south of this one Stony Island, this last one being 
merely a bunch of rocks. 
The three islands form a serious menace to navigation, 
as they are directly in the path of vessels bound through 
Long Island Sound. However much sailors may dread 
this locality they serve one good purpose at least, for 
near and around those barnacled rocks and reefs are 
countless numbers . of blackfish and sea bass. It was 
early in the sumnier of 1904 and the beginning of the fish- 
ing season. Blackfish had struck in and were biting well 
whenever the weather conditions were so that fishing 
was possible. Our bait we had kept for a week. waiting 
for good' weather, and now, while the tide came late, it 
seemed like a smooth time. Of course we always had to 
make an almanac and try to have the weather fulfill our 
expectations. This particular afternoon the clouds were 
supposed to break away, the wind come in from the south 
and west just at night, dying down to a calm at sundown. 
We came as near as the Government Weather Bureau 
does sometirnes, and went entirely wrong in our calcu- 
lation. 
: Our boat was a twenty-foot auxiliary launch having 
for power a three horsepower gasolene engine with a 
short m^«t and a lug sail, for emergencies. The sail 
was hauled up on the mast with the gaff dropped down 
- anu labiiecl wuh it. A broad, able boat, staunch and com- 
fortable. The party consisted of Gus, a young college 
boy whose knowledge of seamanship was, to say the least, 
very limited, but whose good humor and enthusiasm 
made amends for all he was lacking in that line. Bishop, 
a young son of mine, in his teens, and inheriting from his 
paternal ancestor a strong love for the water, and the 
gentle art of angling, and myself. 
■ We had all the necessary gear, plenty of bait and 
lunch, and expected to bring home some fish. We left 
^ the dock at noon. The sea was smooth and the sky clear- 
ing, with every indication of moderate weather. The 
wind was easterly and very light. Running out of the 
harbor and clear of all the rocks the swell became 
heavier, while the wind freshened a trifle, but nothing 
to be alarmed at or that would interfere with our after- 
noon’s sport. We were bound for Stony Island, and our 
course was to the leeward, or west side of Goose Island. 
Here we found Katrina anchored under the island look- 
ing for the same fish we were after. We kept on to the 
extreme south end of Stony Island and anchored in the 
shoal water. It w'^as the most exposed place to fish about 
the island, but the best fishing ground. The swell here 
was quite heavy and we had some trouble to get our 
anchor to hold. It stuck at last, however, and we lay, 
rolling and pitching, with bur 'stern not more than two 
or three rods from the rocks. , It was too rough to fish 
to any advantage, but we hung on, taking a fish now and 
then, and hoping the wind would let go and give us a 
better chance at them. 
Along in the middle of the afternoon it died away 
some and the sun came out. Katrina still lay west of 
the island fishing in the smooth water while Faulkner’s 
Island, with the sun shining on the white tower of the 
lighthouse, showed plain to the eastward. Gus had just 
landed with some ceremony a blackfish that would do to 
fry in ai'pmch when Bishop suddenly called, “Look at the 
fog !” .pointing down to the southeast. There'! o the wind- 
ward of 'Faulkner was the thickest kind of a fog bank 
rolling rapidly down on us. As it neared the lighthouse 
we saw a puff of steam from the fog horn and heard the 
dull roar of the horn, showing that Captain P. was wide 
awake. Then the fog covered the island like a blanket. 
As it rapidly neared us the whitecaps on the water under 
it. showed that there was a strong breeze coming along 
with it. We were in a very exposed position calling for 
quick work. 
“Get in your lines, boys, and you. Bishop, get that 
anchor as quick as you can,” I called, making for the 
engine and getting it ready to start. I turned on. the 
gasolene, snapped the switch over, and waited for a word 
from the boys. 
“Anchor is up and down,” he called. 
“Break it out,” I answered, a quick roll of the balance 
wheel of the engine, a spiteful bark of the machine, and 
we are heading out to sea, while the whirling propeller 
churned the water into foam under the stern of our little 
boat. 
It takes good judgment to always do the right thing 
on the water, and as we gathered headway and drew 
away from the rocks I wondered what was the best thing 
to do. It must be one of three things. Go back to the 
lee of Goose Island and anchor, start for the north shore 
and home, or try and get to Faulkner Island. 
The fog was now very near us, night was coming on, 
and the breeze was freshening every minute. Something 
must be decided on right away. It was five miles to the 
mainland, in the thickest kind of going, and with the 
chance of not striking the harbor entrance. If we went 
back of the island and anchored we were liable to have 
to spend the night in our boat, so taking all things into 
consideration we headed for the lighthouse. We could 
see nothing, but the island was a mile long and a broad 
mark to shoot at. I knew by the wind and the scend of 
the sea about where to head, so we laid our course and 
let her go. It brought the wind almost directly ahead, 
so that we were taking the waves bow on. The seas 
grew heavier and soon the water was flying the whole 
length of the boat. Spray would strike the busy little 
engine amidships and hissing turn to steam, leaving a 
white coating of salt on the cylinder head. 
The engine was putting in full time all this while, 
never missing a stroke. We had to do some bailing at 
one time but soon the water grew smoother. The hoarse 
tones of the fog horn, that had at first sounded at a dis- 
tance now became clearer, and more of a whistle. The 
sound also seemed to come from up in the air. All this 
indicated that we were close up under the land. 
“Now watch out sharp, you two boys,” I called. “We 
don’t want to run the island down, and we should be 
close to it by this time.” 
“There is the boathouse right ahead,” calls Gus, and 
sure enough, we had struck it right on the dot, with 
Captain P. on the dock apparently waiting for us. We 
were all glad to slip into the still water back of the little 
wharf. I 
“Did you get wet?” asked the captain, taking our line. 
“I did not see you until you were almost in. It must be 
rough crossing the reef. You can’t get home to-night, 
so come up to the house and we will have some supper. 
You can moor your boat afterward.” 
We were very glad to accept the kind offer, and all 
hands of us went up to the house with him. As we 
gained the high ground where the house stood we had a 
much better idea of the weather than down in the shelter 
of the bank. The fog was still rolling in white sheets 
over the water; the wind, that had been increasing stead- 
ily ever since we had left the island, was sending in the 
big combers and dashing them into sheets of snowy spray 
on the rocks at the foot of the bank, while from a build- 
ing near us at short regular intervals came the. roar of 
the big horn. 
Very welcome was the light and warmth of the cosy 
kitchen presided over by the captain’s amiable wife and 
small daughter. The good woman insisted that we take 
our shoes and coats off and get dry and warm before we 
had our supper. The two boys reminded me of a couple 
of wet chickens. When we entered the house they said 
very little nor did they act hilarious in the least. They 
gradually thawed out, however, and by the time supper 
was ready our young college boy was all fixed for a good 
time. At the table he fired a few mild jokes at Bishop 
and myself about matters and things in general which 
we tried to return with interest. The rest of the family 
looked at first as though they hardly knew what kind 
of a boy they had for a guest. Then the madam’s face 
expanded in a broad grin, her husband, too,. saw the joke, 
and the little girl tittered until she choked and had to 
leave the table. The supper was delightful ; everything 
on the table tasted good, and we all ate with relish.' Then 
' Gus insisted that he should wipe the dishes, and between 
him, the little girl and Bishop I expect that the madam 
thought there was a good deal going on. They only 
broke one cup and cracked a plate. , 
“Well, boys,” remarked Captain P., “we must go down 
and swing the boat up for the night.” So down tO' the 
dock we went, ran out additional lines and put our boat 
in order for the night. The fog had lifted somewhat, 
but the wind still blew a gale and it was raining. 
We were all tired and went to bed early. Not to sleep, 
mind you, but just to bed. I had a bed to myself while 
the two boys were to sleep in another, both beds being 
in the same room. We did not need a phonograph in 
that room that we should have had to wind occasionally, 
while the two boys were apparently wound up for the 
2§9 
night and talked and talked and talked. Outside m th^ 
wild blackness of the night the bright rays of light from 
the white tower gave warning tOr storm-tossed mariners 
of hidden danger in their path. The rattle of the blinds, 
the beating of the rain against the east windows and the 
dull crash of the surf on the rocks below became at last 
a dull monotone and we slept. 
Throughout the night the storm continued, when 
“Come on, boys, breakfast is ready,” came the call of 
the captain up the stairway and we crawled from our 
snug beds and into our clothes. We came down to find 
breakfast on the table and waiting for us. 
“I don’t think you will get home to-day,” said the 
madam, pouring our coffee for us. 
“Well, remarked her husband, “you might be in a 
worse place.” 
It struck me as I glanced out of the window at the 
stormy water that we could not well be in a better one. 
It still blew a gale, and was raining hard. No vessels 
were in sight, except a little "down-east fishing schooner 
running dead before the wind wing and wing, her sails 
reefed down and her black hull now high on the curl of 
a sea, then sinking behind a big roller nothing would 
show but her masts. 
“You can’t drowm those fellows,” remarked the captain, 
glancing at her from the window. “They go when any- 
thing does; they are built to stay outdoors.” 
“Say, Gus,” said Bishop, “we are built to stay indoors 
to-day the way things look. What are we going to do to 
help you any, captain? Can’t we do something to earn 
our board?” 
“No, not that I know of,” he replied. “I am going 
to clean the engine in the fog house this morning. You 
can come out with me. Go out to the shop and amuse 
yourselves or stay here by the fire just as you please.” 
I went to the fog house, while: the boys went out to 
a small shop where the keeper Made his lobster pots and 
did what tinkering was needed about the island. In the 
fog house were two duplicate kerosene engines that 
operated the big horn. The assistant keeper was already 
hard at work on the one used the night before. Both 
were kept in the finest order and ready for use at any 
time. The extra machine being for use in case of a break- 
down. All this meant lots of work, the burner having 
in this case to be taken apart and cleaned. Very enter- 
taining was the captain as he told me of the lonely 
nights spent by the assistant and himself in this place. 
A lonely spot it must be with the noise of the machinery 
and the fierce blast of the horn, once a minute, as long 
as the fog or snowy weather lasts. Of course the work 
was divided between the two men, one having the watch 
until 12 one night and the other from that time until 
morning and reversing the order the next night, one 
being awake and on duty all of the twenty-four hours. 
Along the middle of the forenoon I went down to the 
shop and found the boys making a windmill. They had 
found a box of new tin plate and a pair of tin shears, 
and were hard at work. This mechanical devise was in 
running order and nailed to a fencepost when the dinner 
bell rang. 
The dinner went right to the spot. We were all of us 
hungry and the big dish of pork stew tasted as good as 
anything ever did to us. Two plates apiece before we 
began to think of stopping. And the pie ! I told Mrs. P. 
to start with to cut the boys’ pieces small, as I knew they 
had eaten enough, and if there was any danger of any- 
one overeating I preferred to take the risk myself. The 
boys demurred some at this and the pie was divided 
equally. After dinner the rain had nearly cleared, al- 
though the wind blew as hard as ever. Gus wanted to 
make a kite, so at it he went. They had found a ball 
of twine in the shop but had no material for the tail. 
Mrs. P. looked them up something that they could use 
and back they went to the shop. With paper, sticks and 
some paste he really did make something that he called a 
kite; anyway it would fly, and fly it those, two boys did, 
way out the whole length of the twine. Finally tiring of 
holding the string Bishop hitched it to a small log and 
set it adrift. This took a good part of the afternoon, 
and with fussing with the boat and talking it was night 
before we knew it. 
The wind had let go some but the Sound was very 
rough, so that we would have to put in another night on 
the island. The young men didn’t seem to want to talk 
so much to-night but turned over and went to sleep. 
The morning dawned clear and bright with just a mod- 
erate breeze. The sea was still quite rough .but nothing 
to what it had been, being more of a long, regular swell. 
After breakfast we made the boat ready, bade our kind 
host and his family good-by and started for the north 
shore. Not until we ran out from the shelter of the 
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