The wind is blowing. It seems like the wind is always blowing here on this rock, like a constant companion, the sea breezes wafting lightly or heavy, but always, the air is moving around you like a torrent of unseen, but not unfelt, spirits. Tonight, though, it is howling, screaming like a banshee. Outside, the elements are raging and there is no sign that this will end soon.  The light is lit, thank God. If not for your toil and attention, such a night could bring the death of many mariners who find themselves at sea so close to the rocky coast and in particular, these treacherous shoals. Winter storms tend to be the worst.  As the Keeper for so many years, you’ve learned how quickly the waters can turn on you. You’ve seen the sea throw boulders from its depths against the granite walls of the light. The first three iterations of it were destroyed by the sea, but not this one. This one was built to last.  But tonight you will wait in the comfort of the keeper’s house and stand watch. There is only one place of refuge once things turn a certain corner and that is the safety of the light itself. But tonight, you will linger inside alone - thanking God that the others are safe on shore in York. There will be no sleep tonight, but as you sit there and the winds howl, you listen attentively and hope she doesn’t come again. You’ve seen her before, only when you’ve been alone on the island. She comes to the door in the midst of the rain and wind and knocks. Your heart jumps -how can someone be at the door when you are the only one on this tiny rock of an island? You remember her eyes - those pleading eyes as she looks at you when you open the door . No words are spoken and no words could ever convey the pain and worry on this young woman’s face. So as you sit there to ride out the storm, you say a little prayer for her...and for yourself. Please God, let her be restful tonight.  There is not another living soul on the island. You’ve been here for a quarter of a century already and at your age, this place has become home.  It is an island, only 14 feet above sea level, a tiny place 300 by 700 feet at low tide, but it has been enough to sustain you, comfort you, even. On a good day, a clear day, you can see the coast of Maine eight miles away, see York and know that you are not completely separated. On a good day, a clear day, you have a boat that will take you there, if need be, though you rarely take the journey anymore. Your name is William C. Williams and you are the Keeper of the tallest lighthouse in New England, the Boon Island Light. Though you are alone here on this wildest of nights, you are certain of one thing, a fact you’ve come to live with, a fact you’ve come to almost find comforting - almost. Because though no living soul is with you here tonight, you know that you are most certainly not alone. Keepers were hard to find for the Boon Island Light. The first one lasted two months before leaving his post, declaring it too isolated, too lonely, too maddening. The second keeper lasted a few years, but the duty was too difficult on the mind. The water and waves destroyed stone towers and the isolation destroyed the calm of the soul. But one man stands out in the service of the Boon Island Light.  William C. Williams was not the first keeper of the Boon Island Light, nor would he be the last, but he remains one of the longest serving of all of the lighthouse keepers ever in the service. A Mainer born in Kittery, Williams first went to tiny Boon Island as an assistant in 1885. Three years later he became the principal Keeper and served in that post until 1911. Lighthouse keepers lived solitary lives, though for many of his years, he was not alone on the island. He had his share of assistants to keep him company. In the summer, he had company ,too -his family and the families of his fellow keepers who would come for the season.  In good weather, some keepers would work two w