Read the story about a lighthouse keeper on a remote coast in the 1920s. Then answer the multiple-choice questions.
In September 1924, the small lighthouse on Blackstone Point stood between the open sea and a fishing village on the southern coast. Ships used to follow its light when they sailed near the rocks, especially during the storm season. For years, the lighthouse keeper, Elias Ward, had checked the lamp every evening before sunset. He knew that one weak flame could become the difference between a safe harbour and a wrecked boat.
On the afternoon of 17 September, the weather did not look unusual at first. A warm breeze was moving in from the sea, and the sky was grey but calm. By four o’clock, however, the air had changed. The atmosphere felt heavy, and dark clouds were gathering above the water. Elias had seen many storms before, but this one worried him. The fishing boats had already returned earlier than usual, and one captain had warned him that the sea was rising quickly beyond the harbour wall.
By sunset, the wind was shaking the windows of the lighthouse. Rain hit the glass so hard that Elias could hardly see the waves below. He lit the lamp, checked the fuel and locked the lower door. Then he climbed to the lantern room and began writing in the weather log. “Strong gusts from the east. Heavy precipitation. Visibility poor,” he wrote. A few minutes later, thunder rolled across the coast, and lightning flashed over the sea.
At first, Elias believed the village was safe because the cyclone seemed to be moving north. That was what the last radio message had suggested. But the message had been sent three hours earlier, before the radio line failed. In reality, the cyclone had changed direction. By the time Elias understood this, the storm was already moving directly towards Blackstone Point.
The worst part began just before midnight. The wind screamed around the tower, and the waves crashed against the rocks below. Elias was trying to keep the lamp steady when a violent gust forced rain through a crack in the lantern room window. Water ran across the floor and almost reached the fuel box. If the fuel became wet, the light could go out. Elias pulled the box away from the window and covered it with an old canvas sheet that he had stored there after a smaller storm the previous winter.
Then, for a few strange minutes, everything became quieter. The rain weakened, the wind dropped, and the sea seemed to pause. Elias knew this did not mean the storm had ended. Older sailors had told him about the eye of a cyclone: a calm centre inside a powerful storm. Many people used to make the dangerous mistake of going outside during this calm period, thinking the natural disaster was over. Elias stayed inside and used the short silence to repair the window as well as he could.
When the second half of the cyclone arrived, it was even more violent. The wind came from the opposite direction and tore part of the wooden storehouse roof away. Lightning struck the cliff path, and rocks fell across the only road to the village. From the lantern room, Elias saw something spinning over the water. At first, he thought it was smoke, but then he realised it was a waterspout moving across the sea in the flashes of lightning.
The lighthouse lamp flickered once, then twice. Elias checked the mechanism and saw that one metal part had loosened because the tower was shaking so badly. He had repaired the same part many times before, but never in such extreme weather. He could not leave the lamp unattended. If the light failed, any late boat still at sea might miss the harbour entrance and hit the rocks. So he tied himself to the iron railing with a rope, held the tool bag against his chest and worked slowly while the storm was roaring around him.
In the village, people saw the light flicker and thought Elias had been injured or that the lamp had gone out completely. Several men tried to reach the lighthouse, but the road had already been blocked by fallen rocks and flooded ground. The rescue boat could not leave the harbour because the waves were too high. Help was delayed not because the villagers had forgotten Elias, but because every route to Blackstone Point had become too dangerous.
Near dawn, the cyclone finally moved inland. The wind weakened, and the rain became a thin drizzle. Elias was exhausted, but the lamp was still burning. When the first villagers reached the lighthouse later that morning, they found the lower door damaged, the storehouse roof missing and seawater inside the entrance hall. Elias was sitting on the stairs with the weather log beside him. He had recorded the storm almost until the end.
The newspaper report later called him a hero, but Elias disagreed. He said he had only done what a lighthouse keeper was supposed to do. Still, the village understood something important that morning. The lighthouse had not gone dark. The light had flickered, but it had survived the cyclone because Elias had prepared carefully, remembered earlier storms and refused to trust the sudden calm in the eye of the storm.
On the afternoon of 17 September, the weather did not look unusual at first. A warm breeze was moving in from the sea, and the sky was grey but calm. By four o’clock, however, the air had changed. The atmosphere felt heavy, and dark clouds were gathering above the water. Elias had seen many storms before, but this one worried him. The fishing boats had already returned earlier than usual, and one captain had warned him that the sea was rising quickly beyond the harbour wall.
By sunset, the wind was shaking the windows of the lighthouse. Rain hit the glass so hard that Elias could hardly see the waves below. He lit the lamp, checked the fuel and locked the lower door. Then he climbed to the lantern room and began writing in the weather log. “Strong gusts from the east. Heavy precipitation. Visibility poor,” he wrote. A few minutes later, thunder rolled across the coast, and lightning flashed over the sea.
At first, Elias believed the village was safe because the cyclone seemed to be moving north. That was what the last radio message had suggested. But the message had been sent three hours earlier, before the radio line failed. In reality, the cyclone had changed direction. By the time Elias understood this, the storm was already moving directly towards Blackstone Point.
The worst part began just before midnight. The wind screamed around the tower, and the waves crashed against the rocks below. Elias was trying to keep the lamp steady when a violent gust forced rain through a crack in the lantern room window. Water ran across the floor and almost reached the fuel box. If the fuel became wet, the light could go out. Elias pulled the box away from the window and covered it with an old canvas sheet that he had stored there after a smaller storm the previous winter.
Then, for a few strange minutes, everything became quieter. The rain weakened, the wind dropped, and the sea seemed to pause. Elias knew this did not mean the storm had ended. Older sailors had told him about the eye of a cyclone: a calm centre inside a powerful storm. Many people used to make the dangerous mistake of going outside during this calm period, thinking the natural disaster was over. Elias stayed inside and used the short silence to repair the window as well as he could.
When the second half of the cyclone arrived, it was even more violent. The wind came from the opposite direction and tore part of the wooden storehouse roof away. Lightning struck the cliff path, and rocks fell across the only road to the village. From the lantern room, Elias saw something spinning over the water. At first, he thought it was smoke, but then he realised it was a waterspout moving across the sea in the flashes of lightning.
The lighthouse lamp flickered once, then twice. Elias checked the mechanism and saw that one metal part had loosened because the tower was shaking so badly. He had repaired the same part many times before, but never in such extreme weather. He could not leave the lamp unattended. If the light failed, any late boat still at sea might miss the harbour entrance and hit the rocks. So he tied himself to the iron railing with a rope, held the tool bag against his chest and worked slowly while the storm was roaring around him.
In the village, people saw the light flicker and thought Elias had been injured or that the lamp had gone out completely. Several men tried to reach the lighthouse, but the road had already been blocked by fallen rocks and flooded ground. The rescue boat could not leave the harbour because the waves were too high. Help was delayed not because the villagers had forgotten Elias, but because every route to Blackstone Point had become too dangerous.
Near dawn, the cyclone finally moved inland. The wind weakened, and the rain became a thin drizzle. Elias was exhausted, but the lamp was still burning. When the first villagers reached the lighthouse later that morning, they found the lower door damaged, the storehouse roof missing and seawater inside the entrance hall. Elias was sitting on the stairs with the weather log beside him. He had recorded the storm almost until the end.
The newspaper report later called him a hero, but Elias disagreed. He said he had only done what a lighthouse keeper was supposed to do. Still, the village understood something important that morning. The lighthouse had not gone dark. The light had flickered, but it had survived the cyclone because Elias had prepared carefully, remembered earlier storms and refused to trust the sudden calm in the eye of the storm.
1. What had the fishing boats done before the storm became severe?
2. Why did Elias move the fuel box during the storm?
3. What mistake did many people use to make during the eye of a cyclone?
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