THE NORE LIGHTSHIP
Coming southwards from Harwich, we are soon at the mouth of the great
water-way to London and in view of the Nore light. This is the first
lightship of which we have had occasion to speak in particular, though
there are now many stationed along our eastern and northern coasts—one of
them, that on the Dudgeon Sands, being almost as old as the Nore.
We have seen the spirit in which the Trinity House of 1674 regarded the
proposals, made by a lighthouse speculator, to establish floating lights
at the Nore and at some other parts; it regarded the proposition as that
of a madman. Well, it sounds an odd opinion to us to-day, but really it
is no more odd than the opinion expressed, sixty or seventy years ago,
by men who knew of what they talked, as to locomotive steam-engines and
railway capabilities in general.
We do not hear of another proposal for floating lights at the Nore till
1730. Robert Hamblin had then devised a scheme for getting the whole
of the lighting of the English coast into his own hands, and the dues
therefrom into his own pocket. His plan was to fix floating lights at
short distances from the shore, in such positions as would render the
existing lighthouses absolutely useless. It was a bold stroke, and so far
successful that he actually got his patent from the crown and established
some of his lights, amongst them that at the Nore.
But his reign was short: the Trinity House addressed a powerful
remonstrance to the law officers of the crown, the owners of private
lighthouses joined in the complaint, and Hamblin’s patent was speedily
cancelled.
But before the cancelling he had parted with any rights he possessed
under his general patent with regard to the lightships at the Nore and at
one or two other points, and in 1732, the purchaser, David Avery, placed
a lightship at the east end of the Nore Sands. After circulating in
shipping circles very glowing accounts of the benefits which this light
would yield to navigation, he began to ask for his tolls, and by a little
judicious dealing with the Trinity House he managed to get that body on
his side in doing so. This is what he did. He arranged that the Trinity
House should itself apply for a new patent from the crown—not in general
words, but simply for a lightship at the Nore—and that he should take a
lease of this patent, when granted, for a term of sixty-one years at a
yearly rent of £100. When we remember what the traffic in and out of the
Thames was, even in 1730, we shall see that Avery must have made a good
profit on the £100 a year he paid the Trinity House.
[Illustration: MODEL OF A LIGHTSHIP BUILT IN 1790.
(_From the Trinity House Museum._)]
The lightship at the Nore turned out fairly successful. Of course the
arrangements for securing her in her position were of a very primitive
type. Even now, with the strongest of cables and anchors, a lightship
will sometimes break away from her moorings and scud before the gale.
That is why the United States Government is replacing lightships by
pile-lighthouses wherever the thing can be done. But in 1732 these
breakings-away were far more frequent, and the first lightship at the
Nore broke her moorings twice in three months of that year.
As a consequence, the number of lightships around the English coast did
not rapidly multiply. However, every few years saw some improvement
in the anchoring arrangements of these vessels, and the benefit, the
utility, of lightships—when once they could be trusted to keep their
positions—became more and more apparent. To-day we have between forty and
fifty of them round the coast of England.
The lighting arrangements on lightships were also, at first, very rude
and unsatisfactory. Small lanterns—each containing a cluster of tiny
candles that needed to be constantly replenished—were suspended from the
yardarm of the vessel’s mast, and these, on a gusty night, were often
blown out, and occasionally blown bodily away. Yet such arrangements were
not altered till early in the present century, when Robert Stephenson
invented the form of lantern at present used, which surrounds the mast
of the lightship. Inside this lantern is a circular frame, on which are
fixed Argand lamps with reflectors, and each light and each reflector
swings, by means of gimbals, so that, let the lightship roll or plunge
as she may, the light is always steady and kept perpendicular by its own
weight.
We do not know with certainty what was the staff, or crew, maintained
on one of these first lightships, but there were few lights to trim and
manage, and there is reason to believe that, when everything with regard
to coast lighting was done as cheaply as could be, there was but one man
to perform the tasks. Surely the loneliness of his life is too awful to
contemplate. Even at the Eddystone and other isolated lighthouses the
keeper was changed but seldom, and it is not likely that the lightship
guard was oftener relieved.
The effect of such economical management must have been disastrous to the
interests of navigation. Sudden death, illness, or accident might, at any
moment, have rendered the single keeper incapable of lighting his lamps,
and dire disaster to vessels, trusting to see the light, must, almost of
necessity, have followed; but before long things were better ordered, and
two men were kept in every lightship.
The immobility, so far as _progress_ is concerned, of a lightship renders
life upon one particularly tedious. Roll or pitch she may, but forward
she never goes—that is, if all keeps well with her anchor and chains.
It is of this that present-day dwellers on lightships most complain—the
dull monotony of a life at anchor. Even the Flying Dutchman’s penance had
advantages over it; he, at any rate, witnessed continual change of scene,
he was permitted to enjoy the rest of progress.
But monotony is about all that a modern lightship keeper has to complain
of, and even that is reduced to a minimum by the latest regulations. A
keeper nowadays has never less than three companions; the Trinity House
boats pay him frequent visits, bringing fresh water, fresh victuals, and
a supply of books and papers; and he can now, in many cases, by means
of the telegraph or telephone, speak with the shore whenever needful.
Besides, by her build, finish, and fittings, a modern lightship is, to a
sailor, a really comfortable home. Each of these vessels costs between
three and four thousand pounds to turn out complete and equipped for
service.
Of course some lightship stations are much more lonely than others. The
ever-passing stream of traffic in and out of the Thames renders the Nore
one of the ‘gayest’ lightships on which to be stationed, and consequently
one of the most popular. Life there is free from that singular and almost
overpowering melancholy so wearying to the men at, say, the Seven Stones
lightship, anchored midway between the Scillies and the Land’s End;
indeed, the two stations cannot be for a moment contrasted. You might as
well compare life ‘lived’ in Piccadilly with life ‘passed’ in a by-road
at Finsbury Park.