DUNGENESS: LIGHTHOUSE AND RAILWAY STATION.
The loose shingle comprising this vast waste of Dungeness is some eight or nine feet deep, and most difficult and exhausting to walk upon. Indeed, the only way to progress for any distance upon it is by wearing upon the feet the contrivances called “backstays,” which are simply boards five inches wide and some nine or ten inches long. They serve exactly the purpose fulfilled by snow-shoes, and prevent or stay one from slipping back. They are sometimes called “beach-pattens.” They are fastened either by straps over the boots, or are worn on the naked feet by passing the straps over the instep and round the big toe. Carts have their wheels cased in wood to a width of eighteen inches.
Wild-birds still make the shingle-wastes of Dungeness their nesting-place. In two marshy and reedy ponds near the sea the blackheaded gull breeds, and the stone-curlew and the rare Kentish plover linger, protected by the Wild Birds Act, and by the appointment of a watcher to see that no one takes the eggs. It requires, as a rule, a trained eye and sharp eyesight to detect the eggs, simply laid among the large and small pebbles, and scarcely distinguishable from them; but many might search for them were it not for this specially appointed guardian of these now rare species.
Among the few houses—the coastguard-station, the general-shop (whose proprietor is also Dutch Consul), and the half-dozen others that constitute this settlement under the illimitable, uninterrupted sky—one walks about on old railway-sleepers laid down in the shingle: the only paths in the place.
The most disastrous happening connected with Dungeness was the wreck of the Northfleet on the night of January 22nd, 1873. The Northfleet was a sailing-vessel of 940 tons, built about 1853 Northfleet near Gravesend, and was bound for Hobart, Tasmania, with a cargo of railway material and some 300 navvies and their wives and children. There were in all some 400 people aboard. The Northfleet passed Deal “all well,” and although the weather was rough, the sky was clear when the vessel anchored for the night two miles off Dungeness. By half-past ten all the passengers had turned in, and all seemed comfortable for the night, when a steamer was observed coming at full speed directly for the Northfleet. Shouts were raised, in vain, and the strange vessel crashed into the Northfleet amidships. Instantly a terrifying panic arose, and in the midst of it the steamer that had caused the disaster cleared off and steamed away, without offering a helping hand, and leaving the unfortunate people to drown. Captain Knowles, of the Northfleet, had only just been promoted to the position, from that of chief officer, in succession to Captain Oates, who had been required by the Treasury as a witness in the Tichborne Case. He had been served with a subpœna, and prevented at the last moment from sailing. The last seen of Captain Knowles, who went down with his ship, was a view of him, revolver in hand, endeavouring to stay the frantic rush of passengers for the boats and to secure first place for the women and children.
The Northfleet sank in three quarters of an hour, and over 300 people went down with her. Eighty-five were saved by the City of London steam-tug, the Kingsdown lugger Mary, and the pilot-cutter Princess.
There seems no reasonable doubt that the cause of the disaster was the Spanish steamer Murillo, bound from Antwerp for Lisbon, Cadiz, and Gibraltar with iron rails. The affair was denied by the Spanish captain, officers, and crew of the Murillo, but stated positively by the two engineers and a passenger, the only three Englishmen on board, who, as the newspaper reports at the time stated, proved superior to the threats and intimidation which had closed the mouths of the rest. The Murillo was examined by the Spanish authorities, and declared to bear no traces of the collision, and so was released. That unsatisfactory finding was the last ever heard of the affair.
Nine miles of coastline lead from Dungeness to Camber-on-Sea, passing on the way the solitary “Hope and Anchor” inn, and three coastguard-stations. At Camber the recently opened light railway from Rye is reached, together with the channel of the river Rother. There, ahead, stands the old town of Rye, perched upon its hill, in Sussex. The Kentish Coast is ended.