Mouthfuls of molten lead, wild weather, and insanity: the occupational hazards of an early lighthouse keeper.
Kind Reader the hand that pened the most of this volum is now cold with the icy chill of death. The loveing heart from whence flowed the passages of affection in this volum is forever stilled, But the sperit that animated and prevad all I trust still lives, more pure, and refined than when on earth. A sperit perfect rejoicing around the throne of God and a Savior forever.
Henry Hall, the 94-year-old lighthouse keeper, discovered that a spark, probably from a candle in the lantern, had flown up and ignited the top of the tower. As Hall looked up to throw a bucket of water on the blaze, a stream of molten lead from the roof poured down his face and throat.