Fireworks at Anderson Light

Charles slept fitfully, unable to get his mind off Mindy Porter.

Outside his bedroom window the deep bellow of the diaphone foghorn blatted its mournful two-toned cry every thirty seconds. And then nothing. The silence fully awakened him. He figured it was near midnight.

Finally he got up and dressed, except for his shoes. Those he carried to the front porch where he sat on the top step and tied the laces. The night air felt damp with a slight chill. A brisk wind had chased the fog away and clearing clouds gave glimpses of stars overhead.

Through the open door of the fog signal building he saw his father working on an air compressor, tools spread across the floor. He decided to not disturb him. With a son at war, German U-boats along the Atlantic shores, and not enough spare parts to properly maintain the light station, he had plenty to worry about.

At sixteen Charles knew he was too young to volunteer, but still he chafed to join the fray. His brother Timothy, four years older, was having all the fun aboard the Coast Guard Cutter Campbell on North Atlantic convoy duty.

Charles started along the path toward the far end of the island. He enjoyed being away from the mainland--particularly at night. The stars were brighter and the air cleaner. Behind him the Fresnel lens rotated slowly, sending three beams of light into the moist darkness.

His dad transferred to Anderson Island in June. After Labor Day Charles and his mom moved to Gull Point, eight miles away on the mainland, so he could go to school.

During the summer he explored every cove and crevice on the island. In fact he knew the island better than his desktop at the high school where he had started his junior year.

After some negotiating his dad agreed to let him spend one weekend a month at the lighthouse while the assistant keeper took shore leave. This was the first of those weekends.

It was Saturday night. What was Mindy Porter doing? Probably at a picture show with some boy. Charles felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought, but actually she wasn't his girl. He'd never asked her out. Not from lack of wanting though. Lack of nerve was the problem.

Mindy was one of the most popular girls in school. Not only was she good looking, but an A student and a cheerleader at the football games. She had never been unfriendly toward Charles, but he figured she just didn't know he existed.

A faint odor cause him to pause--diesel exhaust. The wind was wrong for the smell to drift from the engine room at the lighthouse. He stepped into the damp bushes and crept toward the edge of the bluff. Cold water droplets ran down the nape of his neck.

Close off shore--little more than a hundred feet--lay a dark vessel. As soon as he parted the bushes Charles saw it was a submarine. Men in a rubber raft took aboard several wooden casks, then shoved off and rowed toward the beach.

Two oars came together sending a wooden clacking sound across the cove. Charles heard a whispered admonition but he could not understand a word. His mouth opened in amazement. They were speaking German--it was a U-boat!

He ducked back into the bushes and moved as silently as he could back to the trail. After he felt far enough away to not be heard, he began running.

"Dad! Dad!" he said in a loud whisper, almost skidding into the fog signal building.

His father looked at him in astonishment, wrench paused in mid air. "What in the world has you so worked up, Son?"

"A submarine--a German U-boat," Charles said, pointing toward the north. "It's in the cove just around the point."

"We need to put the word out," the man said, wiping his hands on a rag. He headed for the lighthouse.

Charles trotted along behind. "I think they're taking on water from the creek there. They've got these wooden kegs."

His father stepped into a room containing a desk, a two-way radio and several cabinets. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "They may be monitoring our radio frequencies. If I call an alert, they'll probably be gone before a cutter can get here. If one of us goes for help in the station boat, it'd take over an hour just to get to the mainland. I'd hate see that submarine go back to sea."

"Is there any way we can knock them out of commission?" Charles asked.

"I doubt it. A 30-06 slug won't even penetrate their hull. We need to disable them, not just make them mad. I don't want a U-boat shelling my lighthouse."

"Dad," Charles said hesitantly. "I know you won't like what I'm going to suggest, but at least listen, will you?"

"Go ahead, Son. You're young, but no one's ever accused you of being stupid."

"Here's my idea. You've got that cable in the storeroom for antenna guy wires. If we cut off ten or fifteen feet I could swim out and take a couple of turns around their propeller shaft, then loop the other end around the rudder. If their screw don't turn they can't go anywhere."

"You've got a good idea, Son, but the risk is too great."

"Think about it, Dad. I can swim halfway across the cove underwater. I'd only have to come up for air once or twice. And if they did see me they'll think it's a seal."

"I don't know, Charles. We need to do something but I'm hesitant to see you exposed to that much danger." He shook his head.

"Look, Dad. If we let them get away they might sink a troop ship or maybe even Tim's cutter. A lot of soldiers and sailors could die if we let that U-boat sail."

"You're right," his dad said reluctantly. "First let's get armed." He took a key ring from his belt, opened a tall storage locker and took out a rifle and ammunition can. After he had loaded the 30-06 and jammed cartridges into both front pockets, he handed the metal container to Charles and headed for the storeroom.

"This three-eighths-inch cable should do the job," he said reaching for a hacksaw.

After finishing the cut, he fished a cable clamp out of a box. "Don't leave anymore slack than you have to."

They hurried back to the fog signal room. "Here's a half-inch wrench. Put it in your pocket. If you drop it you won't be able to tighten the clamp. Them cable ends have to be secured or the whole thing will come loose."

"Let's get going while they're still here," Charles said with a touch of impatience.

"Wait. If your're gonna play seal, you need to look like one. There ain't no seal in these parts with a white face."

He led Charles around the corner to the back of the engine room. "This should do it. Number two air compressor engine has a leaky injector so it's throwing a lot of oil out the exhaust." He ran a finger inside the pipe and brought it out dripping with black gunk.

With the only light coming from the rotating lens above, he carefully smeared the sooty oil over Charles's face, neck and the back of his hands. "I think you'll make a passable resemblance to a seal with your dark shirt and trousers."

Charles carried the ammunition can while his dad toted the Springfield rifle and the steel cable. In minutes they stepped off the trail and eased their way to an outcropping of rock above the beach.

"See. What did I tell you?" Charles whispered.

"I never had a doubt."

Charles took off his shoes and grasped the coil of wire. "Don't worry about me, Dad. I'm a good swimmer."

His father pulled him close and gave a bear hug. "God be with you, Son."

When his bare feet first hit the water, Charles sucked in his breath, surprised at how much colder the ocean had gotten in the last month. An involuntary shiver shook his small frame when he slipped beneath the surface. After twenty feet he eased his head up and took three deep breaths, the last one filling his lungs completely. He was concerned at how much extra effort he had to put out with the cable weighing him down.

Each time he came up for air he tried to disturb the water as little as possible. The third time he surfaced, the silhouette of a rifleman on the submarine's conning tower loomed against the sky. He appeared to be scanning the island.

By the time Charles reached the vessel's stern, fatigue had set in. The cold no longer bothered him, but he had heard that was one sign of hypothermia.

After a short rest he took several deep breaths and dived--deeper and deeper into the darkness. By the time he located the propeller, pressure gripped his head. He slipped one end of the cable between two of the metal blades and wrapped it around the shaft. It made a slight scraping noise.

On the following dive he looped the long end of the wire around the rudder. Every time the cable rubbed against any part of the vessel, sound radiated through the water. It concerned him but he had no time to worry.

The next time down he slipped the cable clamp in place and left the nuts finger tight. It took another trip to wrench them down fully. When he surfaced, a raft floated five feet away.

In the moonlight he saw an astonished look on the face of a man leaning over the side of the rubber boat. The man yelled and pointed. Charles gulped once and slipped beneath the surface.

When he came up again he immediately felt a concussion inches from his head, then the sharp report of a rifle. Another shot sounded but he felt no impact. With only a half breath, he dove. More gunfire sounded before the rush of water damped his hearing.

The next time he exhaled before surfacing, then took one deep breath and headed down again. He heard motor sounds followed by screeching and grinding--then nothing.

Completely used up, he crawled onto the beach. "Up here, Son," he heard a call from the rocks above. "Get out out of sight."

Charles crept up the rocky slope and flopped beside his dad. "Wh--what's--happening?" His teeth danced between each word.

"When that Kraut shot at you I opened fire. The rubber raft crew boarded and ran to the gun on the foredeck. After I picked off two of 'em the rest hid behind the conning tower. Every time a head pops out I give them something to think about."

Still watching the U-boat, his dad slipped his shirt off. "Here, Son. Get out of that wet top and put this on. Maybe it'll help warm you." After the shirt swap he said, "Run up to the watch room and put out the word. I'm not sure how long I can hold them."

Charles tried to hurry but stumbled several times before reaching the lighthouse. He leaned against the edge of the desk while a wave of dizziness passed, then he grabbed the microphone and clamped the button. "Mayday, mayday, mayday. this is Anderson Island Lightouse. We have a disabled U-boat two hundred yards north of the light tower."

A reply came almost immediately. "Anderson Island, this is Charley George 83327. We're enroute--ETA thirty minutes. Suggest you take to your station boat in case the Germans come ashore."

"No, sir," Charles said emphatically. "My dad has them holed up with his rifle and no way are they getting on this island."

"Very well, 327 out."

Charles grabbed a blanket from the watch room, threw it over his shoulders and ran down the path. He heard a rifle report before leaving the trail. When he arrived, his dad explained the shot. "Just keeping them honest. One stuck his head out and I dusted it."

After the small Coast Guard cutter arrived the vessel nosed into the cove and turned broadside. Crewmen aimed their 20-millimeter deck gun at the German boat. The captain hailed the submarine with his loud speaker, "This is the United States Coast Guard. Surrender or we'll blow you out of the water."

In a few seconds a white flag appeared atop the conning tower.

Within the hour another Coast Guard cutter arrived. The crews removed the Germans from the U-boat and took it in tow.

On Monday morning Charles was still agog over events of the weekend when he arrived at school. Soon after the opening bell the principal ordered all students to the auditorium for a special presentation. He asked Charles to come to the stage. During the long walk down the aisle, he realized he was more scared than he had been when the Germans were shooting at him.

The principal held up the front page of the Boston Globe. A giant headline said, "Gull Point Teen Captures U-Boat."

Charles had never fainted before but the pounding in his chest and the lighheadedness made him fear he might fall off the stage.

He was not sure how he should act while the principal gave him a good citizenship award, so he stood at attention. The applause echoing across the room brought a combination of embarrassment and pride. He wished his brother Tim could see him.

On the way back to his classroom, Mindy Porter worked her way through the shuffling students and touched Charles lightly on the arm. He had never been close enough before to notice how white and even her teeth were, or how blue her eyes.

"Charles," she said. "We're having a few people over to my house after the ballgame Friday. If you're not going back to the island for the weekend I'd be proud for you to come."

Tongue tied for a moment, he nodded. "I--I'd like that--very much."

"I'll see you after the ball game, then." She smiled warmly and glided away.

At that moment Charles felt excited, yet at peace. On top of the world--even higher than the lighthouse on Anderson Island.

Story ID:	3388
Written by:	James Baker (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:	Writers' Circle
Story type:	Fiction
Location:	Anderson Island Mass. USA
Year:	1941
Person:	Charles