by Phil Rowe
The weather seemed exceptionally pleasant for late October in the small Nova Scotian hamlet of Crescent Cove. The sun shone brightly up in a clear blue sky, and the cool breeze gave no clue of the changes coming. Fall colors were nearly past, though a few red maple leaves and some yellows on the poplars clung tenaciously upon thinning branches. Soon they too would be gone, whipped away by the raging winds of an Autumn storm.
Constable Sam Peters reached across his ancient wooden desk to answer the telephone; its demanding bell interrupting his thoughts about a weather report just received over the teletype machine. He was concerned about the storm warnings passed along by the Coast Guard. The fringes of Atlantic hurricane Gloria were expected to raise gale force winds and possibly bring flood tides. Tonight was the night of the full moon and even normal tides would be higher. He would have to make his rounds of the waterfront to be sure that folks knew what was coming.
"Peters here," he spoke into the telephone's mouthpiece. "Constable Peters. May I help you?"
Sam Peters was a large, ruggedly built man of forty-two years. He was a life-long resident of Crescent Cove, the son of a lobster fisherman who decided not to follow in the footsteps of his father. Life on the water was too hard, too dangerous and really no longer rewarding. The lobsters were disappearing and it was more and more difficult to make a living in the old way. He became the town's constable after getting out of the Coast Guard a few years back. When the job opened upon the death of the previous office holder, Sam was a qualified choice and readily hired by the community. Everyone looked to Sam to solve all kinds of problems, from actually catching an occasional criminal to rescuing local youngsters in trouble. And with his intimate knowledge of Coast Guard operations, he was of great assistance to local fishermen.
"Sam, this is Grace Bolduc. I think my kids are in trouble and I need your help. They might have gone out to McAndrews lighthouse. Would you please see if you can find them. I'm getting worried because the radio says a storm is approaching. If they really went out there; they might become trapped by rising water and the storm. Can you help, please?"
Sam assured Mrs. Bolduc that he would go see if they were out there. "You know, of course, that the old lighthouse is a restricted area and posted with signs to warn people away."
"Yes, I know, Sam. And I have always warned those kids to stay away. But you know kids. I think that they were headed out there because I overheard Rebecca talking about the ghost of the lighthouse. She was telling her younger brother, Matt, that there was no such thing. But I am afraid that's where they were off to."
"I'll go out there now. Stay home, please, because I'll call you from my cellular phone when I have something to report. And don't worry. Those two are smart kids and can take care of themselves. Call you later," Sam ended as he put down the phone, shaking his head. "Kids .. darn kids," he muttered to himself as he prepared to leave the office.
At least once a year some of the local kids managed to make their way out to the old lighthouse. It sat out at the end of a quarter mile long rocky jetty, northeast of town. At low tide you could walk out there by climbing over the rocks and along some gravel beaches. But at high tide the place was inaccessible, except by boat, and that was dangerous if there was any wind at all.
"I'd better hurry," he said to himself. "The tide's already coming in, and due to be full high in just four hours. Any kids out there will be stuck, possible even over night. And just in case, I'd better bring along foul weather gear, blankets and a jug of water and some food," he thought. Sam had been through this before.
Rebecca, age twelve, and her brother Matthew, age eight, had just reached the base of the towering old lighthouse. They clambered up the seaweed and barnacle covered rocks to the rusting ancient iron ladder that led up to a circular porch or deck. Near the base of the lighthouse, just above the high water line a metal deck and railing ran all around the forty-foot diameter tower.
Chips of red paint clung to the rocks below, from the weathered and flaking layers of coloring applied for decades to that ancient structure. The lighthouse was known as a red marker to mariners passing by. Each coastal light was painted a different color to identify its position. McAndrews light was the only red one from Halifax to Yarmouth.
"We'd better go back, Becka," pleaded Matthew. "The tide's coming in and soon we won't be able to. And besides, I scared."
"What are you afraid of? I told you that there aren't any ghosts. And you know that ghosts don't come out in the daytime anyway. Look there. The sun is bright and it's nice out here. C'mon, let's see if we can get inside."
The winds began to increase, whitecaps frothing atop every wave. The gravel beach of the jetty was already covered with a foot of water as Sam could see from the end of the road where he parked his Jeep wagon. He looked through his binoculars to see if there was any sign of those kids. And there they were, walking around that metal deck. One of them was waving. It was the girl and she had spotted Constable Peters car.
The two kids had been unable to enter the locked metal door to the lighthouse tower. They were now stuck out there on that metal grating, exposed to the wind and sea spray now splattering the windward side. Dressed only in blue jeans and sweatshirts those two would soon be cold and very wet. In the heavy seas of a storm they could be swept away. It was no place to spend the night, not this night.
Sam waved back to let Rebecca know that he had seen her. He donned his wading boots, yellow raincoat and grabbed the backpack full of essential gear. He reached into his pocket to be sure that he had the key to the padlock on the lighthouse door. Then he started down the path and began the tricky journey over slippery seaweed covered rocks and through the flying salt spray. By the time that he crossed the gravel beach the water was over his knees. Each wave crashing on the shore nearly knocked him down, and he was a tall 200-pound man. Youngsters would have hardly any chance against those waters.
Sam reached the base of the tower and shouted up to the two kids, "Are you all right? Stay where you are and I'll be right up."
Rebecca answered that they were okay, and stepped back away from the ladder as Sam reached the top rung. He stepped onto the iron decking and glared disapprovingly and the two standing before him. "You know that you aren't supposed to be out here," he declared in a stern voice. Both kids nodded without saying a word.
Sam reached into his back-pack and pulled out the cellular telephone. "I'm calling your mother to tell her that you're okay. But she is worried sick about you two. You'll have some tall explaining to do when I get you home." He punched in the numbers to the Bolduc's telephone and waited for an answer. While the phone rang on the other end he came to the realization that it might be too dangerous to try to bring the two kids back across the now submerged beach.
"Hello, Mrs. Bolduc? I found them and they're both okay. Yes, they are out here at the lighthouse, as you suspected. But I think we'll be stuck out here until the next low tide. The water's high and the waves are pretty rough. With this storm getting closer it'll be better if we just sit tight and seek shelter within the lighthouse. Now don't worry. They will be all right. I brought blankets and some food. We'll be just fine."
As Sam unlocked the door to the tower and started to swing it open, he noticed that Matthew moved back and hid behind his sister. "Don't go in, mister. There's ghosts in there." Rebecca was a little reticent too, but didn't want to show any fear.
"Ghosts? Where did you hear that?" Sam responded, smiling now at his two young charges. "Who told you that there were ghosts in here?"
Rebecca explained that the kids at school all knew that there were ghosts in the old lighthouse. The Ingalls brothers told Matthew that just two days ago. "But I don't believe in ghosts. It's just something that my baby brother thinks is true."
"Don't call me baby," Matthew angrily responded. "And Jimmy Ingalls told me that this place really does have a ghost. He said it's the ghost of Mary McAndrews, the wife of an old lighthouse keeper. And Jimmy knows lots of stuff."
"Well, let's go inside and I'll prove to you that there are no ghosts in here. Come on now. I'll show you around," Sam invited. Unhesitatingly, Rebecca followed Sam in, and Matthew reluctantly tagged along whilst holding onto his sister's sleeve.
Then suddenly, a loud CRASH echoed through the interior of that round metal cylinder as the huge heavy metal door slammed shut. Both kids jumped and barely heard the apologetic words of Sam, explaining that it was just the wind closing the door. "Sorry about that. I forgot to close it. You kids okay?" The two were hugging each other, not at all sure about what they were doing within that cold, now darkened chamber. Sam got out his flashlight and reassured the youngsters that there was nothing to worry about.
"Let's see if we can find that oil lantern and get some light in here," taking special pains to be calm, reassuring and friendly. If he had to spend the night here with these two, he didn't want them becoming panicky. It was going to be a long night. Keeping them calm and unafraid would be an important part of his job of keeping them safe.
"Here it is. I knew that there was a lamp here some place. Rebecca, do you know how to light one of these? Here are some wooden matches."
He reached into his back-pack and pulled out two candy bars. "Here, Matthew ... have one of these and give one to your sister." While Rebecca got the oil lamp going, something she knew very well how to do, Matthew looked around the room. He handed his sister one of the candy bars, and was already chewing on his own. He was especially fond of Hershey's chocolate and didn't need much persuasion to eat it.
The light from the single oil lamp filled the room. It was all painted white, walls and ceiling, and there were no windows. A circular staircase clung to one side of the wall, spiraling up to another level of the huge tower. Only a single table and a chair, plus some wooden crates stacked under the staircase, could be seen as furnishings.
Sam crossed the room and pulled the latch of the door, securely closing it. "There," he proclaimed. "It won't slam on us again." He looked at the two youngsters standing tentatively next to the table bearing the lamp. Both were chewing on the candy bars, Matthew nearly finished with his. "Well, what do you think? This beats standing outside in the wind and the wet, doesn't it?" He knew that they had heard him explain to their mother that spending the night here was likely.
"You told my mother that we'd be staying here all night, didn't you?" asked Matthew. "Have we got to stay here? ... with the ghosts?"
Rebecca interrupted, trying to sound brave, "There aren't any ghosts, Matthew. Quit being a baby."
"Well, yes ... we'll probably spend the night here, Matthew, Sam replied. " Gotta wait til the storm passes and the tide is low. But don't worry about ghosts. There really aren't any. I'll explain to you and your sister later how that silly story got started. It'll give us something to do until bed time."
"I don't seen any beds," responded Rebecca. "Where are we going to sleep?"
"Up there," pointed Sam. He motioned towards the curved staircase. "The lighthouse keeper's home is up there. We're just in the storage room down here. It's much nicer up above, and there are windows so that you can see outside. I'll tell you what, why don't we go up there now. You can call your Mom on my cellular telephone and tell her that you're all right. She'd like that. And then you can tell her what it's like up there, where you will be spending the night. It'll be just fine. Okay?"
The two youngsters nodded approvingly and followed Sam up the stairs. He stopped at the ceiling to open a big trapdoor. It swung upward into the room above and now there was light flowing downward to show the way into the living quarters of the second level. Just seeing the sunlight greatly improved the spirits of the two kids. After they were all within the much cozier keeper's quarters, things seemed much better. Sam closed the trapdoor, just to be sure no one fell down the stairs. Then he set the oil lamp onto a kitchen table next to one of the three windows and blew out the flame.
"This is nice," Rebecca declared. "It'll be fun spending the night here. Boy, the kids in school will all be jealous when they hear about this. Look. There are bunks over there, and a kitchen with dishes and a stove. Neat."
The former keeper's quarters were left pretty much as they had been twenty years ago when the Coast Guard de-commissioned the lighthouse. The citizens of Crescent Bay wanted to keep it from being razed, but had yet to collect enough money to assure the government that saving the place was the proper thing to do. The town's small historical society, actually just three elderly ladies, had long hoped to get title transferred to them to preserve this important landmark. But in the interim the place had simply been locked up and no longer maintained. The maritime museum in Halifax wanted the huge Fresnel lens for its display, but nothing had been removed so far. It was almost the same as when the last keeper departed, and the light was permanently darkened.
Sam once again got out his cellular telephone and dialed Mrs. Bolduc's number. In a few seconds he handed the phone to Rebecca, explaining to her that she needed to stand by the window to let the radio signals get outside the metal tower. For several minutes, Rebecca and then Matthew talked to their mother, reassuring her that they were all right. In fact they gave the impression of great excitement and a sense of adventure that this was all going to be great fun. "See you tomorrow," Rebecca exclaimed as she ended the conversation and handed the telephone back to Sam. "Mom's going to be okay", she added.
Outside the skies were darkening, both from the late afternoon's approaching twilight and the clouds moving up from the south. The winds grew stronger and more incessant. Waves crashed over the rocks of the jetty and now one could barely detect the beach and path to shore. The lighthouse was now an island, an island surrounded by angry seas and steadily louder winds. Soon it would be dark.
"Would you two like to see the light? the big light atop the tower?" Sam extended the invitation as something to do to keep them busy and interested, as well as to educate them about the operation and purpose of the lighthouse. He also wanted to start explaining about the history of the lighthouse and how the legend of the ghost of McAndrews began. He wanted to dispel the myth of a ghost, hoping that the kids would tell others and remove some of the attraction of the place.
The three climbed up a much steeper set of metal stairs to the next level. Another trap door led to the upper room, a glass-walled chamber containing the huge Second Order lens, the 1000-watt light and turning mechanism. Both youngsters were enthralled.
Sam showed them the business end of the lighthouse, explaining about the Fresnel lens and its beam forming characteristics. Then he pointed out the windows at the rocky shoals just a few hundred yards away, where over the years many boats and ships had floundered in good weather and bad. He explained that McAndrews light was originally known as Sloop Head Light, for the fishing sloop which crashed in the mid 1800's with the loss of all hands on those rocks. There was no lighthouse back then and locals insisted that the government build one. All the men who went down on the Marcy-D, that local fishing sloop lost before the guardian lighthouse was built, were from Crescent Bay. Shortly after confederation and Nova Scotia's becoming a part of the newly independent nation of Canada, Ottawa finally agreed to build the lighthouse.
It was known as Sloop Head Light until about 1900, when another tragic event occurred, one that both changed the name of the light and started the legend of the ghost of McAndrews Light. Sam continued his explanations to the now eager young audience before him. They weren't all that interested in the history as much as they were to his beginnings of the tale of the ghost and the tragedy behind it.
Sam ushered his young charges back down to the second level, wanting to get them below before it got too dark to safely negotiate the steep stairs. He inadvertently left the trapdoor open. And now the winds were really getting strong, actually howling across the steel tower and shaking it when really gusty blows came.
"Time to light the lantern again, Rebecca. The matches are next to the sink." The twilight was dimming quickly, and it was barely 6:00 P.M.. "I know it's too early for bed, but Matthew you can get the blankets out of my backpack. You two decide which bunks you want. I'll take the cot over there next to the trapdoor." Soon Rebecca had the lamp going again and Matthew placed a blanket on each bunk.
"There's only two blankets," Matthew declared. "What are you going to use?"
"Oh, I'll be fine in just my clothes ... and add my rain coat if it gets too cold. We don't have any wood for the stove and there's no furnace, so you two will need the blankets. And I hate to say this, but we'd better not burn the lamp too long. Looks like we have only an hour or so of oil remaining. Let's have something to eat before it gets dark."
Sam took a bag of foodstuffs from his backpack. "It isn't much, but these rolls and apples will have to be supper tonight. And all we have to drink is water, but that'll hold us until morning."
The kids weren't all that thrilled with the fare for supper, but they were hungry enough to eat it. Dry rolls and water had to do, but Rebecca seemed appreciative and said,"Thank you, Constable ... this is just fine for supper, and we already ate our dessert, those candy bars, I guess." Matthew, stuffing a piece of roll into his mouth, nodded as a hasty second to his sister's words.
Rebecca inquired, "Are you going to tell us the rest of the story .. and explain why the ghost part is not true?" Actually she was beginning to become a little worried, as it was getting dark and the building was creaking and groaning in the blustery storm raging outside. She hoped that the constable's explanations would comfort both her and her brother.
"Sure. Where was I? .... Oh yes, I was about to explain how the lighthouse got its current name and how another tragic shipwreck led to the story of the ghost. Well, it was on a night about like we have now, back around 1900. A severe storm was raging outside, with fierce winds and crashing seas. It was not a night for any sailor to be out there, especially anywhere near those rocks that I showed you."
The two youngsters stopped chewing and stared intently as Sam continued his story. They were both keenly aware of the storm now blowing around them, making Sam's story even more real and gripping.
The lighthouse continued to creak and groan, even louder than before. A low squealing sound seemed to come from up above, but they didn't notice.
Sam continued, "It was a horrible night to be outside, much less on any ship. Kevin McAndrews, the lighthouse keeper at the time, and his wife Mary, were right here in this room. They made sure that the light was fully operational to warn approaching vessels of the dangers of the shoals over there." Sam pointed out the window to the seaward side.
The now rising full moon could be seen intermittently between the rapidly blowing clouds. A glimmer of moonlight played on the white foam of waves crashing onto the rocks, those treacherous rocks that could smash a ship into pieces within minutes. Rebecca and Matthew looked intently at the moon and the faintly visible white of moonlit spray near the rocks.
"Yup .. it was just this kind of night when the tragedy unfolded. Mrs. McAndrews was sitting here at this very table when she noticed something unusual out there toward the rocks. She spotted the light of a flare, a red streak arcing across the sky, rising from a dark shape over near the rocks. It was a signal from the crew of a freighter run aground, a small coastal freighter caught by the storm and dashed onto the shoal.
She called to her husband and pointed out to the spot in the darkness. By then the flare was gone, but faintly in the light of the moon, a moon just like this, McAndrews saw what he feared most. He saw the shape of a ship floundering on the shoal, and he knew that no one could survive the punishing crashes of waves and winds onto those killer rocks. He had to act, and act fast, if he was to do anything to help. Those men would die unless he could get a line to them. Then they might have some chance of survival."
"What did he do?" asked Matthew, now wholly engrossed in the story and sensing the fury of a similar storm beating against the lighthouse and those rocks. "Yes ... what could he do?" echoed Rebecca. "How could he possibly get a rope out there?"
"Kevin McAndrews did what he had to. He gathered from the storeroom down below all the rope he could find, about 500 yards of stout heavy rope. To one end he tied another lighter line, which he would try to bring out to the battered ship. He had about the same length of light line which he hoped he could pay out while he rowed his dory across to the shoals. It would be dangerous, he knew, but he had to try. Mary was not at sure that he could make it, much less even launch his dory from the metal decking at the base of the tower.
McAndrews explained to his wife exactly what he was going to try to do, and what she had to do from the lighthouse. He dragged that heavy rope out onto the seaward side of the deck. The waves drenched him every time they crashed onto the rocks below at the base of the tower. When he got the rope laid out the way he wanted, he tied the lighter line to the heavier one and placed the coiled remainder into the dory. Then he dragged the dory to the lee side of the tower, where he had some chance of getting aboard and launched for the treacherous trip out to the shoal.
Mary was instructed to make sure that the heavy rope was uncoiled smoothly at a given signal. Upon reaching the ship, Kevin would send up another flare to indicate that he made it and that they were ready to start pulling the heavier rope toward them. Mary could watch from the light room above and await the flare signal."
"Did he actually put out in that rough sea in just his dory?" asked Rebecca. "Nobody could make it across to the shoal."
"Kevin McAndrews felt that he had no choice. He was an experienced doryman and felt that he would have a better chance than anyone. He just had to try. No telling how many men needed his help. Well, anyway, he managed to get the dory launched, climb aboard and start rowing into the storm toward the wrecked ship. The light manila line trailed behind him, pointing to where he was in the darkness. Mary stood up there in the light room, watching in fear, as her husband attempted a heroic rescue. She could tell from the reflection of the light upon the manila line that he was headed a bit to the right of where the ship was.
As long as the line seemed a little taut she remained thankful that he was steadily getting closer to the ship. She had a view of the shoals and the ship that he did not, for she was up high. He could barely see over the next wave, even when the spray didn't temporarily blind him.
Now and then Mary could see the spray of crashing waves battering the darkened outline of the wrecked ship. But then she realized that her husband was headed off too far to the right, now getting away from his objective. She opened one of the light room windows and it nearly flew out of her hands in the blowing storm. She began to yell and then scream at the top of he lungs for him to come left. She screamed and screamed, but it did no good. With the wind and waves, her husband could not possibly hear her. She could not see him, but she knew which direction he had gone by the light reflecting off that light manila rope, that rope now moving farther and farther to the right. She continued screaming, "Left... Go Left", but he never heard."
"Did he ever get there?" eagerly asked the anxious children. "Didn't he hear her?"
"Sadly no. Mary noticed that the manila line suddenly went slack. And it was by then way off to the right. She screamed so hard that she suddenly lost her voice and could make no sound at all. Leaning out of the window as far as she dared, she hoped to see something of her husband's dory and perhaps a tightening of that manila line. But it just didn't happen. She knew what that meant and it meant the worst. Not only had she lost her husband, she knew that all hands on that fateful ship were going to be lost and there was nothing she could do."
"What's all that got to do with the ghost?" Matthew asked in frustration. He thought that Sam's story would explain the ghost and not some shipwreck he'd never heard of.
"I'm getting to that part, young man. But maybe we'd better turn down that oil lamp, real low so that we don't run out of light before bed time." Rebecca leaned across the table and twisted the knob which lowered the wick almost to the point where the lamp went out. The light dimmed markedly and the room became darkened, almost totally dark. There was more light coming into the window from outside when passing clouds cleared away from the full moon.
The winds howled with great fury around the now shaking and groaning tower. The squealing sound from up above was now clearly perceptible, and could almost seem like a faint scream. The windows from the light room above rattled noisily too.
"Mary never spoke another word, not one in the thirty-five years she lived after that tragic night. Her voice was permanently lost from all that screaming, the night she lost her husband. She moved into town and never set foot into this lighthouse again. A new keeper was appointed to replace the McAndrews, and the name of the lighthouse was changed, changed to McAndrews in honor of the brave keeper who gave his life attempting to save seamen in trouble. That's how this place got its name."
"But that doesn't explain anything about the ghost," Rebecca implored. "What about that?"
Just then a huge gust of wind shook the tower. The cast iron plates forming the shell of the structure not only creaked and groaned, a loud screeching sound echoed through the building. It was the sound of metal upon metal, worse than fingernails across a school blackboard. Some of the plates were scraping against one another, caused by the flexing of the whole structure in the wind. It was eerie.
"Did you hear that, my young friends?" asked Sam. Did you hear that sound of metal squeaking when the wind moved the tower?" Both kids nodded in agreement and understanding, not seemingly very upset at the noise. "Well, that was the sound that began the legend of the ghost. No one ever said that they actually saw a ghost. They only claimed that they heard the ghost of Mary McAndrews screaming, still screaming after her lost husband."
"Really?" asked Rebecca, somewhat surprised. That sound wasn't like a scream at all. And it wasn't even all that loud. Naw .. that couldn't have been mistaken for a ghost." Matthew agreed.
"Well, I told you that there was no ghost here. It was a later lighthouse keeper who knew of the story of Mary McAndrews who started the ghost myth. But you know something? He really believed that it was the screaming ghost of Mary McAndrews. And he told everyone who would listen all about it.
It seems that one night, one much like this one, he was asleep in his bed, that lower bunk over there. And in the middle of the night he was awakened by a loud screeching sound, much louder than the one we just heard. A huge gust of wind rattled this whole tower, making some of the metal plates rub against one another at the seams. This place was like an echo chamber and the sound really reverberated. The entire tower resounded with noises. And to that keeper it was as if Mary McAndrews herself was still up there, up there screaming and screaming. The poor man down here was scared out of his wits. No, it was not a ghost, really. But you couldn't convince him of that. He left this place that very next morning, never to return. And he told everyone who would listen that he had heard Mary's ghost. So that's how this place became to be known as a haunted lighthouse. Do you feel better now, now that you know the whole story?"
Matthew seemed to understand, and at least he forgot about his fears long enough to ask Sam where the bathroom was in this place.
"Oh, it's down below. That cabinet along the wall, opposite from the bottom of the stairs and to the left of the main door, it's the toilet. Do you need to go? Okay. Why don't you take this flashlight and go down the spiral stairs to the bathroom? Can you do that by yourself?"
Matthew nodded yes, but by the time he got to the trapdoor now opened by Sam, he turned to his sister and asked if she would go with him. He used the ploy of saying he'd show her where it was, in case she needed it later. But it was pretty obvious to both Rebecca and Sam that he really wanted someone to go with him.
Rebecca and Matthew slowly went down below to the storage room, leaving the trap door open behind them. Matthew carried the flashlight and led the way. Sam turned up the wick on the oil lamp to give them more light, placing it at the head of the stairs. Soon Sam heard the door to the toilet cabinet click shut. Rebecca waited outside, just at the bottom of the stairs.
Suddenly, without warning. a tremendous gust of wind shook the entire tower, from top to bottom. Winds outside had to be at more than sixty knots, maybe even ninety. The whole building shook and shuddered in the fury of that gust. But most disconcertingly, the screeching of metal against metal, those plates rubbing against one another filled the place with resounding scream-like sounds. From the light room at the top to the storage room below, the place echoed with deafening screeching sounds.
Up the circular stairs came two terrified and white-faced youngsters. Matthew appeared without his pants on, having left them in great haste in the toilet below. but he did have the flashlight.
"You two look more like the real ghosts," proclaimed Sam. He tried not to laugh. Those to kids were nearly in shock. Are you all right? It was just those plates rubbing, you know."
Neither said a word, not one word. Both of them headed for the lower bunk, pulled the blanket up over their heads and lay there holding onto each other. Nothing Sam could say would calm them. They were convinced that McAndrews light was indeed haunted.
"Okay, you two. I'll be right here, if you need me. And I'll leave the lamp on the table burning on low flame as long as it lasts. You keep my flashlight there with you," which is exactly what Matthew was going to do anyway.
Sam went over to the cot, took off his boots and covered his legs with his raincoat. "This is going to be a long night," he muttered to himself. "Morning cannot come soon enough."