Landing on the Ledge

Landing on Minot's Ledge is easy enough in summer time when the sea is smooth; but in winter there is hardly a time when the ladder that runs from the foot of the tower to the door forty feet above is of any service. Owing to the particular wash of the waves around the base, it is only on very rare occasions that a boat can tie near the ladder without danger of being swamped or dashed to pieces. In summer, when it is too rough to land by ladder, visitors are hoisted up in a chair; but space in the tower being very contracted, the keepers limit the furnishings to the very minimum, and in the fall the chair is shipped to Cohasset, where it hibernates. When, last February, I landed at Minot's, or rather was hoisted into it, the steps could not be used. We had been in sight of the tower since we put out from Boston Harbor; had seen it rising gray and grim in all its loneliness out of the waves. As the lighthouse tender Geranium headed for Minot's, it became apparent to the keepers that she was creeping toward the tower. A figure appeared at the door, and, climbing halfway down the ladder, hung to a rung by one hand, and, with an axe in the other, began chopping something white which rose from the sea from where he stood.