There is a sense of humor in the clockwork of the universe. Once, long ago, there was a man who could not shut up. He was a nice enough man. When he was a boy, his Mother told him that if he had nothing nice to say, he should say nothing at all. He had a lot of nice things to say. He was very positive. Even though, as you can well imagine, everyone hated him soon after being exposed to his constant flourishing of uplifting statements and unwanted flattery. His relatives had no idea what they should do. There were no mental hospitals in the country. There was only a crowded mental asylum where madmen were whipped, dowsed, scorched, and bound. They wanted none of that for him. If they put him in a monestary, he would get sent back for breaking the vow of silence. In the navy, the penalty for talking out of turn was being flogged. In the army, well, it was probably a little worse. They were at a loss for what to do with the man. It wasn't until one day, when his Uncle's gameskeepers Cousin's son mentioned that the Lonely Island Lighthouse needed a keeper urgently. This seemed like a perfect opportunity. The Uncle was sure that when he explained the dire need for a handy, dedicated, man to make sure ships didn't run aground on this deadly rock thrust up from the bottom of the briny deep, the man would agree...and he did.
Soon, they had him bundled into a navy schooner with all the comforts he could take with him for an extended stay. There was a crowd of well wishers, the Postman who was often delayed by the good natured chatter, the shopkeeper who would sometimes lose his train of thought when the man would come in and compliment him on his window displays, the school master who was no fan of idle chatter and clamped down on it whenever it came across his path, the baker's wife, who was unflinchingly ignorant and harbored smouldering resentment for the man ever since he called her pastry whorls "epicurean attainments worthy of Olympian presentation", the list goes on and on.
The sailors were glad to be rid of him when the rowed him ashore to the sparse dock on the lighthouse landing. The trip had taken two weeks. After the first day of being complimented on their seamanship and being lauded for their ability to imbibe huge pewter mugs of grog without falling from the rigging, the sailors were in a froth to have the cat of nine tails taken from its red bag and used on this lubber until he "shut his damned gob". Unfortunately, he was a civilian and they couldn't "let the cat out of the bag" on his account.
They dropped him off with the wind howling and the drizzle on his brow. He was all alone. He trudged up the stony hillside with all his worldly possesions and tended the great lamp of the lighthouse the whole night through. It was on the second day he found out that his provisions were mostly inedible. The kegs containing flour were filled with weevils and sawdust. The freshwater casks were empty. The sugar jars were crammed with beach sand. There was only a crate or two of hardtack and some pickles. It was obvious someone had stolen his supplies and replaced them with trash or not at all. He found himself suddenly transformed into a gardener, fisherman, and inventor. He searched the rocky island for patches of soil and carefully tended and transplanted the remnants of some much prior resident's garden. He fished daily and he was forced into devising methods of collecting rainwater and setting up a still that turned seawater into fresh water.
through all this privation and struggle, he tended his lamp faithfully every night. The first tragedy that befell him was that he lost two fingers to a giant squid while he was fishing. He felt a tug and then a jerk and then a massive pull on the line. Foolishly, he wrapped the line around his hand and pulled with all his might. The boat heeled over and he found himself looking into an eye the size of a dinner plate. Screaming, he flung a fending pole into the beast's eye which only served to enrage it. Seconds later, he felt a sickening pain in his hand and looked down to see his pinky and ring finger on the floor of the boat.
