A light--clear, ruddy and brilliant, like a huge carbuncle--uprose one
evening from the deep, and remained hovering about forty feet above the
surface, scattering its rays far and wide, over the Downs to Ramsgate
and Deal, along the coast towards Dover, away beyond the North Foreland,
across the Goodwin Sands, and far out upon the bosom of the great North
Sea.
It was a chill November evening, when this light arose, in the year--
well, it matters not what year. We have good reasons, reader, for
shrouding this point in mystery. It may have been recently; it may have
been "long, long ago." We don't intend to tell. It was not the first
time of that light's appearance, and it certainly was not the last. Let
it suffice that what we are about to relate did happen, sometime or
other within the present century.
Besides being cold, the evening in question was somewhat
stormy--"gusty," as was said of it by a traveller with a stern visage
and remarkably keen grey eyes, who entered the coffee-room of an hotel
which stood on the margin of Ramsgate harbour facing the sea, and from
the upper windows of which the light just mentioned was visible.
"It is, sir," said the waiter, in reply to the "gusty" observation,
stirring the fire while the traveller divested himself of his hat and
greatcoat.
"Think it's going to blow hard?" inquired the traveller, planting
himself firmly on the hearth-rug, with his back to the fire, and his
thumbs hooked into the armholes of his waistcoat.
"It may, sir, and it may not," answered the waiter, with the caution of
a man who has resolved, come what may, never to commit himself.
"Sometimes it comes on to blow, sir, w'en we don't look for it; at other
times it falls calm w'en we least expects it. I don't pretend to
understand much about the weather myself, sir, but I shouldn't wonder if
it _was_ to come on to blow 'ard. It ain't an uncommon thing at
Ramsgate, sir."
The traveller, who was a man of few words, said "Humph!" to which the
waiter dutifully replied "Yessir," feeling, no doubt, that the
observation was too limited to warrant a lengthened rejoinder.
The waiter of the Fortress Hotel had a pleasant, sociable, expressive
countenance, which beamed into a philanthropic smile as he added--
"Can I do anything for you, sir?"
"Yes--tea," answered the traveller with the keen grey eyes, turning, and
poking the fire with the heel of his boot.
"Anything _with_ it, sir?" asked the waiter with that charmingly
confident air peculiar to his class, which induces one almost to believe
that if a plate of elephant's foot or a slice of crocodile's tail were
ordered it would be produced, hot, in a few minutes.
"D'you happen to know a man of the name of Jones in the town?" demanded
the traveller, facing round abruptly.
The waiter replied that he had the pleasure of knowing at least seven
Joneses in the town.
"Does one of the seven deal largely in cured fish and own a small
sloop?" asked the traveller.
"Yessir, he do, but he don't live in Ramsgate; he belongs to Yarmouth,
sir, comes 'ere only now and then."
"D'you know anything about him?"
"No, sir, he don't frequent this 'otel."
The waiter said this in a tone which showed that he deemed that fact
sufficient to render Jones altogether unworthy of human interest; "but I
believe," he added slowly, "that he is said to 'ave plenty of money,
bears a bad character, and is rather fond of his bottle, sir."
"You know nothing more?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Ham and eggs, dry toast and shrimps," said the keen-eyed traveller in
reply to the reiterated question.
Before these viands were placed on the table the brief twilight had
passed away and darkness en-shrouded land and sea. After they had been
consumed the traveller called for the latest local paper, to which he
devoted himself for an hour with unflagging zeal--reading it straight
through, apparently, advertisements and all, with as much diligence as
if it were a part of his professional business to do so. Then he tossed
it away, rang the bell, and ordered a candle.
"I suppose," he said, pointing towards the sea, as he was about to quit
the room, "that that is the floating light?"
"It is one of 'em, sir," replied the waiter. "There are three lights on
the sands, sir; the Northsan 'ead, the Gull-stream, and the Southsan
'ead. That one, sir, is the Gull."
"How far off may it be?"
"About four miles, sir."
"What is the mate's name?"
"Welton, sir, John Welton."
"Is he aboard just now?"
"Yessir, it's the master's month ashore. The master and mate 'ave it
month an' month about, sir--one month afloat, next month ashore; but it
seems to me, sir, that they have 'arder work w'en ashore than they 'ave
w'en afloat--lookin' after the Trinity stores, sir, an' goin' off in the
tender to shift and paint the buoys an' such like; but then you see,
sir, w'en it's their turn ashore they always gits home to spend the
nights with their families, sir, w'ich is a sort of compensation, as it
were,--that's where it is, sir."
"Humph! d'you know what time it is slack water out there in the
afternoon just now?"
"About three o'clock, sir."
"Call me at nine to-morrow; breakfast at half-past; beefsteaks, coffee,
dry toast. Good-night."
"Yessir--good-night, sir--Number 27, sir, first floor, left-hand side."
Number 27 slammed his door with that degree of violence which indicates
a stout arm and an easy conscience. In less than quarter of an hour the
keen grey eyes were veiled in slumber, as was proved unmistakably to the
household by the sounds that proceeded from the nose to which these eyes
belonged.
It is not unfrequently found that strength of mind, vigour of body, high
colour, and a tremendous appetite are associated with great capacity for
snoring. The man with the keen grey eyes possessed all these qualities,
as well as a large chin and a firm mouth, full of very strong white
teeth. He also possessed the convenient power of ability to go to sleep
at a moment's notice and to remain in that felicitous condition until he
chose to awake. His order to be "called" in the morning had reference
merely to hot water; for at the time of which we write men were still
addicted to the ridiculous practice of shaving--a practice which, as
every one knows, is now confined chiefly to very old men--who naturally
find it difficult to give up the bad habit of a lifetime--and to little
boys, who _erroneously_ suppose that the use of a sharp penknife will
hasten Nature's operations.
Exactly at nine o'clock, a knock at the door and "'Ot water, sir,"
sounded in the ears of Nunber 27. At half-past nine precisely Number 27
entered the coffee-room, and was so closely followed by the waiter with
breakfast that it seemed as if that self-sacrificing functionary had sat
up all night keeping the meal hot in order to testify, by excessive
punctuality, the devotion of his soul to duty.
The keen-eyed man had a keen appetite, if one might judge from
appearances in such a matter. A thick underdone steak that overwhelmed
his plate appeared to melt away rapidly from before him. Potatoes he
disposed of in two bites each; small ones were immolated whole. Of
mustard he used as much as might have made a small-sized plaster; pepper
he sowed broadcast; he made no account whatever of salt, and sugar was
as nothing before him. There was a peculiar crash in the sound produced
by the biting of his toast, which was suggestive at once of irresistible
power and thorough disintegration. Coffee went down in half-cup gulps;
shrimps disappeared in shoals, shells and all; and--in short, his
proceedings might have explained to an intelligent observer how it is
that so many men grow to be exceedingly fat, and why it is that hotel
proprietors cannot afford to lower their apparently exorbitant charges.
The waiter, standing modestly by, and looking on with solemn interest,
mentally attributed the traveller's extraordinary powers and high health
to the fact that he neither smoked nor drank. It would be presumptuous
in us to hazard a speculation on this subject in the face of an opinion
held by one who was so thoroughly competent to judge.
Breakfast over, the keen-eyed man put on his hat and overcoat and
sallied forth to the harbour, where he spent the greater part of the
forenoon in loitering about, inspecting the boats--particularly the
lifeboat--and the shipping with much interest, and entering into
conversation with the boatmen who lounged upon the pier. He was very
gracious to the coxswain of the lifeboat--a bluff, deep-chested, hearty,
neck-or-nothing sort of man, with an intelligent eye, almost as keen as
his own, and a manner quite as prompt. With this coxswain he conversed
long about the nature of his stirring and dangerous duties. He then
made inquiry about his crew: how many men he had, and their
circumstances; and, by the way, whether any of them happened to be named
Jones. One of them was so named, the coxswain said--Tom Jones. This
led the traveller to ask if Tom Jones owned a small sloop. No, he
didn't own a sloop, not even a boat. Was there any other Jones in the
town who owned a small sloop and dealt largely in cured fish? Yes there
was, and he was a regular gallow's-bird, if all reports were true, the
coxswain told him.
The traveller did not press the subject long. Having brought it up as
it were incidentally, he dismissed it carelessly, and again concentrated
his attention and interest on the lifeboat.
To all the men with whom he conversed this bluff man with the keen grey
eyes put the same question, and he so contrived to put it that it seemed
to be a matter of comparatively little interest to him whether there was
or was not a man of the name of Jones in the town. Nevertheless, he
gained all the information about Jones that he desired, and then, hiring
a boat, set out for the floating light.
The weather, that had appeared threatening during the night, suddenly
became calm and fine, as if to corroborate the statement of the waiter
of the Fortress Hotel in regard to its uncertainty; but knowing men in
oilcloth sou'westers and long boots gave it as their opinion that the
weather was not to be trusted. Fortunately for the traveller, it
remained trustworthy long enough to serve his purpose. The calm
permitted his boat to go safely alongside of the light-ship, and to
climb up the side without difficulty.
The vessel in which he found himself was not by any means what we should
style clipper-built--quite the reverse. It was short for its length,
bluff in the bows, round in the stern, and painted all over, excepting
the mast and deck, of a bright red colour, like a great scarlet dragon,
or a gigantic boiled lobster. It might have been mistaken for the first
attempt in the ship-building way of an infatuated boy, whose
acquaintance with ships was founded on hearsay, and whose taste in
colour was violently eccentric. This remarkable thing had one immense
mast in the middle of it, supported by six stays, like the Norse galleys
of old, but it had no yards; for, although the sea was indeed its home,
and it incessantly braved the fury of the storm, diurnally cleft the
waters of flood and ebb-tide, and gallantly breasted the billows of
ocean all the year round, it had no need of sails. It never advanced an
inch on its course, for it had no course. It never made for any port.
It was never either homeward or outward bound. No streaming eyes ever
watched its departure; no beating hearts ever hailed its return. Its
bowsprit never pointed either to "Greenland's icy mountains, or India's
coral strand," for it had no bowsprit at all. Its helm was never swayed
to port or starboard, although it _had_ a helm, because the vessel
turned submissive with the tides, and its rudder, being lashed hard and
fast amidships--like most weather-cocks--couldn't move. Its doom was to
tug perpetually, day and night, from year to year, at a gigantic anchor
which would not let go, and to strain at a monster chain-cable which
would not snap--in short, to strive for ever, like Sisyphus, after
something which can never be attained.
A sad destiny, some may be tempted to exclaim. No, reader, not so sad
as it appears. We have presented but one side of the picture. That
curious, almost ridiculous-looking craft, was among the aristocracy of
shipping. Its important office stamped it with nobility. It lay there,
conspicuous in its royal colour, from day to day and year to year, to
mark the fair-way between the white cliffs of Old England and the
outlying shoals--distinguished in daylight by a huge ball at its
mast-head, and at night by a magnificent lantern with argand lamps and
concave reflectors, which shot its rays like lightning far and wide over
the watery waste, while, in thick weather, when neither ball nor light
could be discerned, a sonorous gong gave its deep-toned warning to the
approaching mariner, and let him know his position amid the surrounding
dangers. Without such warnings by night and by day, the world would
suffer the loss of thousands of lives and untold millions of gold.
Indeed the mere absence of such warnings for one stormy night would
certainly result in loss irreparable to life and property. As well
might Great Britain dispense with her armies as with her floating
lights! That boiled-lobster-like craft was also, if we may be allowed
to say so, stamped with magnanimity, because its services were
disinterested and universal. While other ships were sailing grandly to
their ports in all their canvas panoply, and swelling with the pride of
costly merchandise within, each unmindful of the other, _this_ ship
remained floating there, destitute of cargo, either rich or poor, never
in port, always on service, serene in all the majesty of her one settled
self-sacrificing purpose--to guide the converging navies of the world
safely past the dangerous shoals that meet them on their passage to the
world's greatest port, the Thames, or to speed them safely thence when
outward-bound. That unclipperly craft, moreover, was a gallant vessel,
because its post was one of danger. When other ships fled on the wings
of terror--or of storm trysails--to seek refuge in harbour and
roadstead, this one merely lengthened her cable--as a knight might shake
loose the reins of his war-horse on the eve of conflict--and calmly
awaited the issue, prepared to let the storm do its worst, and to meet
it with a bold front. It lay right in the Channel, too, "i' the
imminent deadly breach," as it were, prepared to risk encounter with the
thousands of ships, great and small, which passed to and fro
continually;--to be grazed and fouled by clumsy steersmen, and to be run
into at night by unmanageable wrecks or derelicts; ready for anything in
fact--come weal come woe, blow high blow low--in the way of duty, for
this vessel was the Floating Light that marked the Gull-stream off the
celebrated and fatal Goodwin Sands.