When storms rushed in from the ocean, as they often did, lighthouse keepers could not follow the example of the mariners they served and run for some calm harbor.  Since their ships has stone foundations and no engines, sails, rudders, or helms, they had to stay and take whatever the sea threw at them.  To fight back against gale and gloom, they had only their lights and their wits.  The lamps, which more often than not stood at the top of winding staircases with hundred of steps, were in constant need of attention.  But whatever the conditions or the health of the keeper, they had to be kept burning. As a result, keepers always worked nights and rarely had a day off.  
 

   The daily routine of a lighthouse keeper was demanding, tedious and could become rather boring when doing routine and repetitive work.  The light had to be maintained, the log had to be kept.  The lamp had to be kept burning from sunset to sunrise.    The lens had to be cleaned and polished.  The oil lamps had to be checked and filled.  The framework of the apparatus had to be dusted, the wicks had to be trimmed.  The tower stairs had to be swept as did the landing doors, windows, recesses and passageways from the lantern to the oil room.  At some lighthouses, piles of dead birds had to be shoveled off the gallery deck every morning when they crashed into the towers having been attracted by the bright light.  The grounds also had to be kept clean and orderly as well as all the buildings and facilities on the grounds.  Station maintenance, including painting the tower, consumed the bulk of the men's time.  Female keepers were excused from having to paint the tower. 
 

     Lighthouse keepers endured this sort of existence, not necessarily for any high-minded or romantic reason--for instance, because they loved the sea, the wind, or the isolation--but for the same reason most people work:  It rewarded them with a place to live and a smattering of pay.  It was also a job worth doing, a job that had to be done.  
 

     The keepers were not the only ones who faced hardship, danger, and punishing weather.  Their families usually shared in the heavy work of keeping the lights burning, often displaying the same heroic resolve as the keepers themselves.  
 

     On a stormy night in 1856, young Abbie Burgess drew a chair to the kitchen table of the battered keeper's residence on isolated Matinicus Rock off the coast of Maine and dipped her pen into ink.  A lonely seventeen year old, separated by at least twenty five miles of turbulent ocean from the nearest country store, barn dance, or church social, she had decided to write a letter to a pen pal on the mainland.  She is telling of a storm that occurred while her father, Keeper Sam Burgess, had gone to Rockland to purchase supplies and was trapped there by a sudden nor'easter, leaving his bedridden wife and daughter to weather the storm alone. 

      You have often expressed a desire to view the sea out in the ocean when it is angry.  Had you been here on 19 January (1856), I surmise you would have been satisfied.  Father was away early in the day, as the tide rose, the sea made a complete breach over the rock, washing every movable thing away, and of the old dwelling not one stone was left upon another.  The new dwelling was flooded, and the windows had to be secured to prevent the violence of the spray from breaking them in.  As the tide came, the sea rose higher and higher, till the only endurable places were the light towers.  If they stood, we were saved, otherwise our fate was only too certain.  But for some reason, I know not why, I had no misgivings, and went on with my work as usual.  For four weeks, owing to the rough weather, no landing could be effected on the rock.  During this time, we were without the assistance of any male member of our family.  Though at times greatly exhausted with my labors, not once did the lights fail.  I was able to perform all my accustomed duties as well as my father's. 
     You know the hens are our only companions.  Becoming convinced, as the gale increased, that unless they were brought into the house they would be lost, I said to mother, "I must try to save them."  She advised me not to attempt it.  The thought, however, of parting with them without an effort was not to be endured, so seizing a basket, I ran out a few yards after the rollers had passed and the sea fell off a little, with the water knee deep, to the coop, and rescued all but one.  It was the work of a moment, and I was back in the house with the door fastened, but I was none too quick, for at that instant my little sister, standing at the window, exclaimed, "Oh, look!  Look there!  The worst sea is coming."  That wave destroyed the old dwelling and swept the rock.  I cannot think you would enjoy remaining here any great length of time for the sea is never still and, when agitated, its roar shuts out every other sound, even drowning our voices. 

     A few months after the extraordinary month long Atlantic storm described in her letter, Abbie Burgess married a young assistant lighthouse keeper.  She and her husband eventually became keepers of the Matinicus Rock Lighthouse.  
 
 

Opening Page	More Lighthouses
Maine Lighthouses             Vacation Photographs                            by Grandma Carol	Outer Banks    Lighthouses            Vacation Photographs                               by Grandma Carol
Lighthouse Lenses and Other Things	Haunted Lighthouses
Loyal Lighthouse Ladies	The Life of  a Lighthouse Keeper and His Family
Forever Christmas	Some Of My Collection
About Grandma Carol