THE FLOATING LIGHT BECOMES THE SCENE OF FLOATING SURMISES AND VAGUE
SUSPICIONS.
It must not be supposed, from what has been said, that the Gull
Lightship was the only vessel of the kind that existed at that time.
But she was a good type of the class of vessels (numbering at present
about sixty) to which she belonged, and, both as regarded her situation
and duties, was, and still is, one of the most interesting among the
floating lights of the kingdom.
When the keen-eyed traveller stepped upon her well-scrubbed deck, he was
courteously received by the mate, Mr John Welton, a strongly-built man
above six feet in height, with a profusion of red hair, huge whiskers,
and a very peculiar expression of countenance, in which were united calm
self-possession, coolness, and firmness, with great good-humour and
affability.
"You are Mr Welton, I presume?" said the traveller abruptly, touching
his hat with his forefinger in acknowledgment of a similar salute from
the mate.
"That is my name, sir."
"Will you do me the favour to read this letter?" said the traveller,
selecting a document from a portly pocket-book, and presenting it.
Without reply the mate unfolded the letter and quietly read it through,
after which he folded and returned it to his visitor, remarking that he
should be happy to furnish him with all the information he desired, if
he would do him the favour to step down into the cabin.
"I may set your mind at rest on one point at once," observed the
stranger, as he moved towards the companion-hatch, "my investigations
have no reference whatever to yourself."
Mr Welton made no reply, but a slight look of perplexity that had
rested on his brow while he read the letter cleared away.
"Follow me, Mr Larks," he said, turning and descending the ladder
sailor-fashion--which means crab-wise.
"Do you happen to know anything," asked Mr Larks, as he prepared to
follow, "about a man of the name of Jones? I have come to inquire
particularly about him, and about your son, who, I am told--"
The remainder of the sentence was lost in the cabin of the floating
light. Here, with the door and skylight shut, the mate remained
closeted for a long time in close conference with the keen-eyed man,
much to the surprise of the two men who constituted the watch on deck,
because visitors of any kind to a floating light were about as rare as
snowflakes in July, and the sudden advent of a visitor, who looked and
acted mysteriously, was in itself a profound mystery. Their curiosity,
however, was only gratified to this extent, that they observed the
stranger and the mate through the skylight bending earnestly over
several newspapers spread out before them on the cabin table.
In less than an hour the keen-eyed man re-appeared on deck, bade the
mate an abrupt good-bye, nodded to the men who held the ropes for him,
descended into the boat, and took his departure for the shore whence he
had come.
By this time the sun was beginning to approach the horizon. The mate of
the floating light took one or two turns on the deck, at which he gazed
earnestly, as if his future destiny were written there. He then glanced
at the compass and at the vessel's bow, after which he leant over the
side of the red-dragon, and looked down inquiringly at the flow of the
tide. Presently his attention was fixed on the shore, behind which the
sun was about to set, and, after a time, he directed a stern look
towards the sky, as if he were about to pick a quarrel with that part of
the universe, but thinking better of it, apparently, he unbent his
brows, let his eyes fall again on the deck, and muttered to himself,
"H'm! I expected as much."
What it was that he expected, Mr John Welton never told from that day
to this, so it cannot be recorded here, but, after stating the fact, he
crossed his arms on his broad chest, and, leaning against the stern of
his vessel, gazed placidly along the deck, as if he were taking a
complacent survey of the vast domain over which he ruled.
It was an interesting kingdom in detail. Leaving out of view all that
which was behind him, and which, of course, he could not see, we may
remark that, just before him stood the binnacle and compass, and the
cabin skylight. On his right and left the territory of the quarter-deck
was seriously circumscribed, and the promenade much interfered with, by
the ship's boats, which, like their parent, were painted red, and which
did not hang at the davits, but, like young lobsters of the kangaroo
type, found shelter within their mother, when not at sea on their own
account. Near to them were two signal-carronades. Beyond the skylight
rose the bright brass funnel of the cabin chimney, and the winch, by
means of which the lantern was hoisted. Then came another skylight, and
the companion-hatch about the centre of the deck. Just beyond this
stood the most important part of the vessel--the lantern-house. This
was a circular wooden structure, above six feet in diameter, with a door
and small windows. Inside was the lantern--the beautiful piece of
costly mechanism for which the light-ship, its crew, and its
appurtenances were maintained. Right through the centre of this house
rose the thick unyielding mast of the vessel. The lantern, which was
just a little less than its house, surrounded this mast and travelled
upon it. Beyond this the capital of the kingdom, the eye of the monarch
was arrested by another bright brass funnel, which was the chimney of
the galley-fire, and indicated the exact position of the abode of the
crew, or--to continue our metaphor--the populace, who, however, required
no such indicator to tell of their existence or locality, for the chorus
of a "nigger" melody burst from them, ever and anon, through every
opening in the decks, with jovial violence, as they sat, busily engaged
on various pieces of work below. The more remote parts of this
landscape--or light-scape, if we may be allowed the expression--were
filled up with the galley-skylight, the bitts, and the windlass, above
which towered the gong, and around which twined the two enormous chain
cables. Only one of these, however, was in use--that, with a single
mushroom-anchor, being sufficient to hold the ship securely against tide
and tempest.
In reference to this we may remark in passing that the cable of a
floating light is frequently renewed, and that the chafing of the links
at the hawse-hole is distributed by the occasional paying out or hauling
in of a few yards of chain--a process which is styled "easing the nip."
"Horroo! me hearty, ye're as clain as a lady's watch," exclaimed a man
of rugged form but pleasant countenance, as he issued from the small
doorway of the lantern-house with a bundle of waste in one hand and an
oil-can in the other.
This was one of the lamplighters of the light-ship--Jerry MacGowl--a man
whose whole soul was, so to speak, in that lantern. It was his duty to
clip and trim the wicks, and fill the lamps, and polish the reflectors
and brasses, and oil the joints and wheels (for this was a revolving--in
other words a flashing light), and clean the glasses and windows. As
there were nine lights to attend to, and get ready for nightly service,
it may be easily understood that the lamplighter's duty was no sinecure.
The shout of Jerry recalled the king from his contemplation of things in
general to the lantern in particular.
"All ready to hoist, Jerry?" inquired Mr Welton, going forward.
"All ready, sir," exclaimed the man, looking at his handiwork with
admiration, and carefully removing a speck of dust that had escaped his
notice from one of the plate-glass windows; "An't she a purty thing
now?--baits the best Ginaiva watch as iver was made. Ye might ait yer
supper off her floor and shave in the reflictors."
"That's a fact, Jerry, with no end of oil to your salad too," said Mr
Welton, surveying the work of the lamplighter with a critical eye.
"True for ye," replied Jerry, "an' as much cotton waste as ye like
without sinful extravagance."
"The sun will be down in a few minutes," said the mate, turning round
and once more surveying the western horizon.
Jerry admitted that, judging from past experience, there was reason to
believe in the probability of that event; and then, being of a poetical
temperament, he proceeded to expatiate upon the beauty of the evening,
which was calm and serene.
"D'ye know, sir," he said, gazing towards the shore, between which and
the floating light a magnificent fleet of merchantmen lay at anchor
waiting for a breeze--each vessel reflected clearly in the water along
with the dazzling clouds of gold that towered above the setting
sun--"D'ye know, sir, I niver sees a sky like that but it minds me o'
the blissid green hills an' purty lakes of owld Ireland, an' fills me
buzzum wid a sort of inspiration till it feels fit a'most to bust."
"You should have been a poet, Jerry," observed the mate, in a
contemplative tone, as he surveyed the shipping through his telescope.
"Just what I've often thought mesilf, sir," replied Jerry, wiping his
forehead with the bunch of waste--"many a time I've said to mesilf, in a
thoughtful mood--
"Wan little knows what dirty clo'es
May kiver up a poet;
What fires may burn an' flout an' skurn,
An' no wan iver know it."
"That's splendid, Jerry; but what's the meanin' of `skurn?'"
"Sorrow wan of me knows, sir, but it conveys the idee somehow; don't it,
now?"
"I'm not quite sure that it does," said the mate, walking aft and
consulting his chronometer for the last time, after which he put his
head down the hatchway and shouted, "Up lights!" in a deep sonorous
voice.
"Ay, ay, sir," came the ready response from below, followed by the
prompt appearance of the other lamplighter and the four seamen who
composed the crew of the vessel Jerry turned on his heel, murmuring, in
a tone of pity, that the mate, poor man, "had no soul for poethry."
Five of the crew manned the winch; the mate and Jerry went to a
block-tackle which was also connected with the lifting apparatus. Then
the order to hoist was given, and immediately after, just as the sun
went down, the floating light went up,--a modest yet all-important
luminary of the night. Slowly it rose, for the lantern containing it
weighed full half a ton, and caused the hoisting chain and pulleys to
groan complainingly. At last it reached its destination at the head of
the thick part of the mast, but about ten or fifteen feet beneath the
ball. As it neared the top, Jerry sprang up the chain-ladder to connect
the lantern with the rod and pinion by means of which, with clockwork
beneath, it was made to revolve and "flash" once every third of a
minute.
Simultaneously with the ascent of the Gull light there arose out of the
sea three bright stars on the nor'-eastern horizon, and another star in
the south-west. The first were the three fixed lights of the lightship
that marked the North sandhead; the latter was the fixed light that
guarded the South sandhead. The Goodwin sentinels were now placed for
the night, and the commerce of the world might come and go, and pass
those dreaded shoals, in absolute security.
Ere long the lights of the shipping in the Downs were hung out, and one
by one the lamps on shore shone forth--those which marked the entrance
of Ramsgate harbour being conspicuous for colour and brilliancy--until
the water, which was so calm as to reflect them all, seemed alive with
perpendicular streams of liquid fire; land and sea appearing to be the
subjects of one grand illumination. A much less poetical soul than that
of the enthusiastic lamp-lighter might have felt a touch of unwonted
inspiration on such a night, and in such a scene. The effect on the
mind was irresistibly tranquillising. While contemplating the
multitudes of vessels that lay idle and almost motionless on the glassy
water, the thought naturally arose that each black hull en-shrouded
human beings who were gradually sinking into rest--relaxing after the
energies of the past day--while the sable cloak of night descended,
slowly and soothingly, as if God were spreading His hand gently over all
to allay the fever of man's busy day-life and calm him into needful
rest.
The watch of the floating light having been set, namely, two men to
perambulate the deck--a strict watch being kept on board night and day--
the rest of the crew went below to resume work, amuse themselves, or
turn in as they felt inclined.
While they were thus engaged, and darkness was deepening on the scene,
Welton stood on the quarterdeck observing a small sloop that floated
slowly towards the lightship. Her sails were indeed set, but no breath
of wind bulged them out; her onward progress was caused by the tide,
which had by that time begun to set with a strong current to the
northward. When within about a cable's length, the rattle of her chain
told that the anchor had been let go. A few minutes later, a boat was
seen to push off from the sloop and make for the lightship. Two men
rowed it and a third steered. Owing to the force of the current they
made the vessel with some difficulty.
"Heave us a rope," cried one of the men, as they brushed past.
"No visitors allowed aboard," replied Mr Welton sternly; catching up,
nevertheless, a coil of rope.
"Hallo! father, surely you've become very unhospitable," exclaimed
another voice from the boat.
"Why, Jim, is that you, my son?" cried the mate, as he flung the coil
over the side.
The boatmen caught it, and next moment Jim stood on the deck--a tall
strapping young seaman of twenty or thereabouts--a second edition of his
father, but more active and lithe in his motions.
"Why you creep up to us, Jim, like a thief in the night. What brings
you here, lad, at such an hour?" asked Mr Welton, senior, as he shook
hands with his son.
"I've come to have a talk with 'ee, father. As to creeping like a
thief, a man must creep with the tide when there's no wind, d'ye see, if
he don't come to an anchor. 'Tis said that time and tide wait for no
man; that bein' so, I have come to see you now that I've got the chance.
That's where it is. But I can't stay long, for old Jones will--"
"What!" interrupted the mate with a frown, as he led his son to the
forepart of the vessel, in order to be out of earshot of the watch,
"have 'ee really gone an' shipped with that scoundrel again, after all
I've said to 'ee?"
"I have, father," answered the young man with a perplexed expression;
"it is about that same that I've come to talk to 'ee, and to explain--"
"You have need to explain, Jim," said the mate sternly, "for it seems to
me that you are deliberately taking up with bad company; and I see in
you already one o' the usual consequences; you don't care much for your
father's warnings."
"Don't say that, father," exclaimed the youth earnestly, "I am sure that
if you knew--stay; I'll send back the boat, with orders to return for me
in an hour or so."
Saying this he hurried to the gangway, dismissed the boat, and returned
to the forepart of the vessel, where he found his father pacing the deck
with an anxious and somewhat impatient air.
"Father," said Jim, as he walked up and down beside his sire, "I have
made up my mind that it is my duty to remain, at least a little longer
with Jones, because--"
"Your duty!" interrupted the mate in surprise. "James!" he added,
earnestly, "you told me not long ago that you had taken to attending the
prayer-meetings at the sailors' chapel when you could manage it, and I
was glad to hear you say so, because I think that the man who feels his
need of the help of the Almighty, and acts upon his feeling, is safe to
escape the rocks and shoals of life--always supposin' that he sails by
the right chart--the Bible; but tell me, does the missionary, or the
Bible, teach that it is any one's duty to take up with a swearing,
drinking scoundrel, who is going from bad to worse, and has got the name
of being worthy of a berth in Newgate?"
"We cannot tell, father, whether all that's said of Morley Jones be
true. We may have our suspicions, but we can't prove t'em; and there's
no occasion to judge a man too soon."
"That may be so, Jim, but that is no reason why you should consort with
a man who can do you no goods and, will certainly do 'ee much harm, when
you've no call for to do so. Why do 'ee stick by him--that's what I
want to know--when everybody says he'll be the ruin of you? And why do
'ee always put me off with vague answers when I git upon that subject?
You did not use to act like that, Jim. You were always fair an'
above-board in your young days. But what's the use of askin'? It's
plain that bad company has done it, an' my only wonder is, how _you_
ever come to play the hypocrite to that extent, as to go to the
prayer-meeting and make believe you've turned religious."
There was a little bitterness mingled with the tone of remonstrance in
which this was said, which appeared to affect the young man powerfully,
for his face crimsoned as he stopped and laid his hand on his father's
shoulder.
"Whatever follies or sins I may have committed," he said, solemnly, "I
have not acted a hypocrite's part in this matter. Did you ever yet find
me out, father, tellin' you a lie?"
"Well, I can't say I ever did," answered the mate with a relenting
smile, "'xcept that time when you skimmed all the cream off the milk and
capsized the dish and said the cat done it, although you was slobbered
with it from your nose to your toes--but you was a _very_ small fellow
at that time, you was, and hadn't got much ballast aboard nor begun to
stow your conscience."
"Well, father," resumed Jim with a half-sad smile, "you may depend upon
it I am not going to begin to deceive you now. My dear mother's last
words to me on that dreary night when she died,--`Always stick to the
_truth_, Jim, whatever it may cost you,'--have never been forgotten, and
I pray God they never may be. Believe me when I tell you that I never
join Morley in any of his sinful doings, especially his drinking bouts.
You know that I am a total abstainer--"
"No, you're not," cried Mr Welton, senior; "you don't abstain totally
from bad company, Jim, and it's that I complain of."
"I never join him in his drinking bouts," repeated Jim, without noticing
the interruption; "and as he never confides to me any of his business
transactions, I have no reason to say that I believe them to be unfair.
As I said before, I may suspect, but suspicion is not knowledge; we have
no right to condemn him on mere suspicion."
"True, my son; but you have a perfect right to steer clear of him on
mere suspicion."
"No doubt," replied Jim, with some hesitation in his tone, "but there
are circumstances--"
"There you go again with your `circumstances,'" exclaimed Welton senior
with some asperity; "why don't you heave circumstances overboard, rig
the pumps and make a clean breast of it? Surely it's better to do that
than let the ship go to the bottom!"
"Because, father, the circumstances don't all belong to myself. Other
people's affairs keep my tongue tied. I do assure you that if it
concerned only myself, I would tell you everything; and, indeed, when
the right time comes, I promise to tell you all--but in the meantime I--
I--"
"Jim," said Mr Welton, senior, stopping suddenly and confronting his
stalwart son, "tell me honestly, now, isn't there a pretty girl mixed up
in this business?"
Jim stood speechless, but a mantling flush, which the rays of the
revolving light deepened on his sunburnt countenance, rendered speech
unnecessary.
"I knew it," exclaimed the mate, resuming his walk and thrusting his
hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, "it never was otherwise since
Adam got married to Eve. Whatever mischief is going you're sure to find
a woman underneath the _very_ bottom of it, no matter how deep you go!
If it wasn't that the girls are at the bottom of everything good as well
as everything bad, I'd be glad to see the whole bilin of 'em made fast
to all the sinkers of all the buoys along the British coast and sent to
the bottom of the North Sea."
"I suspect that if that were done," said Jim, with a laugh, "you'd soon
have all the boys on the British coast making earnest inquiries after
their sinkers! But after all, father, although the girls are hard upon
us sometimes, you must admit that we couldn't get on without 'em."
"True for ye, boy," observed Jerry MacGowl, who, coming up at that
moment, overheard the conclusion of the sentence. "It's mesilf as
superscribes to that same. Haven't the swate creeturs led me the life
of a dog; turned me inside out like an owld stockin', trod me in the
dust as if I was benaith contimpt an' riven me heart to mortial tatters,
but I couldn't get on widout 'em nohow for all that. As the pote might
say, av he only knowd how to putt it in proper verse:--
"`Och, woman dear, ye darlin',
It's I would iver be
Yer praises caterwaulin'
In swaitest melodee!'"
"Mind your own business, Jerry," said the mate, interrupting the flow of
the poet's inspiration.
"Sure it's that same I'm doin', sir," replied the man, respectfully
touching his cap as he advanced towards the gong that surrounded the
windlass and uncovered it. "Don't ye see the fog a-comin' down like the
wolf on the fold, an' ain't it my dooty to play a little tshune for the
benefit o' the public?"
Jerry hit the instrument as he spoke and drowned his own voice in its
sonorous roar. He was driven from his post, however, by Dick Moy, one
of the watch, who, having observed the approaching fog had gone forward
to sound the gong, and displayed his dislike to interference by
snatching the drumstick out of Jerry's hand and hitting him a smart blow
therewith on the top of his head.
As further conversation was under the circumstances impossible, John
Welton and his son retired to the cabin, where the former detailed to
the latter the visit of the strange gentleman with the keen grey eyes,
and the conversation that had passed between them regarding Morley
Jones. Still the youth remained unmoved, maintaining that suspicion was
not proof, although he admitted that things now looked rather worse than
they had done before.
While the father and son were thus engaged, a low moaning wail and an
unusual heave of the vessel caused them to hasten on deck, just as one
of the watch put his head down the hatch and shouted, "A squall, sir,
brewing up from the nor'-east."