STORIES OF BRAVE WOMEN.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 20287, 21 December 1927, Page 10

STORIES OF BRAVE WOMEN.

Women’s heroism on the sea is not a new story. Back in 1833, Grace Darling, daughter of the keeper of the Longstoue lighthouse, rescued, nine men, lone survivors of a vessel dashed to pieces on the rocks oft' the English coast. Despite the remonstrances of her father that heath was certain, her pleas finally won him over, and the nine men, the remnant ot a crew of 03, were saved. Then (says (he Capo Argus) there is the keeper of the lighthouse on the dreary, misnamed-Angel Island, in San Francisco Bay, who nonchalantly reported '‘she had struck the bell bv hand for 20 hours and 33 minutes until the fog lifted,” when the mechanism failed to work during a terrific storm. To do this she had to stand all night on the cold outside platform of the lighthouse. Though her husband was dying, Kate Walker, then a bride of two years, stuck to the job, and kept the giant eye of the lighthouse sweeping the Now York Harbour every five seconds. Lives may go out. but not the light; its revolving white light must never cease. For 35 hours she remained at tier post. Another woman, keeper of the New Canal light on Lake I’ontchartrain, remained at her task the night of the great hurricane which passed through New Orleans on September 28. 1915. She was alone at the station, and kept the light burning by _ fastening a lens and hanging a lantern in the tower while the cyclonic winds wreaked terrific damage all about her. Nor has women's heroism been limited to the sen. Spanning the Des Moines River, near Boone, la., stands a new railroad bridge dedicated to the memory of Kate Shelley, the “Grace Darling of the Prairies.” In 18S1, when Kate was 15. a wooden trestle bride? crossed the Des Moines River where the new bridge now stands. On the night of Julv 0 of that year the valley was swept by the worst storm in the memory of tile "oldest inhabitants. Kate left the shelter of her home to release their live stock-, (bat the animals might find safety in the hills. While returning to her home she heard a crash and the hiss of steam. She knew what flint meant. The bridge had given way and the crew of the train had been thrown into the icy wafers of the swollen stream. She know, too, that the midnight passenger train was duo at Moimrona. Someone must warn them of the break- before they left that station, several miles away from the scene of the wreck:, but there was no one but Knt° to do it. Tailing a lantern, she crept on hands ami knees acres; the partly broken bridge, all the while hearing the agonised cn'es of the drowning men she muld no*, aid. and (hen on to the station. But her battle against the storm was not: in vain, and the new bridge now stands as a memorial to the heroine who risked Imi I life tp save others. 1