Lightships and Lighthouses

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

But the light-vessel controlled by the United States which occupies the most responsible and perilous post is the Diamond Shoal, off Cape Hatteras. It throws its warning rays from a spot about four and five-eighth miles beyond the most seaward point of this terrible ocean graveyard, and is thirteen and five-eighth miles distant from Cape Hatteras light on the mainland. A long way from the actual danger spot, you say, but the little squad of men who have to maintain the light through storm and calm will tell you that the situation, in 180 feet of water, is quite as near as is pleasant when there is the ever-present danger of anchors being dragged, or of the craft breaking adrift under the force of the cyclonic disturbances which ravage this sinister coast. Even in calm weather the relief-boat has many anxious moments, owing to the swell and currents, while storms rise with startling suddenness. While the exchange of men is being made and stores are being transferred, a keen lookout is kept by the relief-boat hands so as to be ready to cut and run for the open sea the moment the clouds begin to collect ominously. In these latitudes the weather is placid one minute; the next the elements are writhing in fury.

THE “FIRE ISLAND” LIGHTSHIP, THE ATLANTIC OUTPOST OF THE UNITED STATES.

This vessel rides in 96 feet of water, 9¾ miles south of the Fire Island Lighthouse.

Probably this is the most dangerous station on the whole seaboard, and if any heavy trouble is caused by the tempest, the Diamond Shoal inevitably bears grim evidence of the conflict. The skill of the engineers is taxed sorely to devise ways and means of keeping the vessel in the position she is designed to occupy, but moorings and anchors must be of great weight and strength to stand up against a wind blowing eighty miles an hour, with the waves running “mountains high” and repeatedly sweeping the vessel from stem to stern. After every battle a careful look round has to be made to determine how far the vessel has shifted. Being steam-driven, this craft is not condemned to absolute helplessness when her moorings snap. The crew get her under control and keep her head pointed in the desired direction, so as to mitigate the battering of the wind and waves, and not moving more than is essential for safety. Subsequently the vessel crawls back to her position, the bearings are taken, and she is anchored firmly once more.

One hurricane swept Cape Hatteras, and the lightship received its full energy. The boat strained and groaned at her chains. Suddenly they snapped. No steam could hold the boat against the assault. She was picked up, thrown about like an empty box, and carried inshore, luckily missing the ridges of sand. Had she plumped into one, it would have gripped her tightly while the waves pounded her to fragments. The crew were helpless and could only wonder what the end would be, as they saw the rugged coastline approach nearer and nearer. When they thought all was over and that their fate was sealed, a big incoming wave snatched the lightship, hurried her along on its bosom, and dropped her on the beach, practically uninjured, and safe from further attack.

When the crew surveyed their position, they found themselves faced with a difficult proposition. The ship was safe and sound, but on the wrong side of the shoals, and the question was how to lift her over those greedy ridges. There was only one method. That was to dig a pit around her on the beach, let in the water so that she could float, and then to cut a wide deep trench out to sea so as to regain deep water. It was feasible, and was attempted. While the pond on the beach was being dug, a powerful dredger came up, and ploughed its way through the shoals from deep water to the stranded light-vessel. When the craft was once more afloat, the dredger carved its way back again, the light-vessel being taken through the narrow, shallow ditch thus provided, which was closed up by the running sand as the two boats crept slowly forward, until at last the shoals were negotiated. The ship was taken to headquarters, the relief-vessel, which is always kept ready for an emergency, having taken up her position on the station immediately the hurricane had blown itself out.

Under these circumstances it will be realized that the maintenance of the Diamond Shoal light is by no means a sinecure. When these adversities are aggravated by the relief-boat being unable to fulfil its scheduled duty, when week after week slips by without the men receiving the welcome spell ashore, while they are suffering privations and experiencing the nerve-shattering pangs of isolation and monotony, it is not surprising that despondency shows signs of getting the upper hand among the crew. Melancholia is the malady which is feared most on a light-vessel such as this, and the men have to pull themselves together to resist its insidious grip. Probably at times there is half an inclination to desert the light, but fortunately there is little fear of this temptation succeeding. The axiom “Never abandon the light” is too deeply rooted; besides, the men are safer where they are, although it appears a crazy refuge in rough weather.

Prolonged imprisonment on the Diamond Shoal precipitated one mutiny. The crew on duty were awaiting the arrival of the reserve vessel to take them home; but the weather disposed otherwise. With that inexplicable persistence, the wind got round to a rough quarter and kept there tenaciously, never moderating for a few hours, but just blowing, blowing, blowing, getting up a nasty sea which made the lightship reel and tumble, while at intervals a comber came aboard to flush the decks.

In the course of ten days or so the crew began to fret and fume at the obstinacy of the elements; when a month slipped by without bringing any welcome relief, the mate and the engineer incurred the captain’s dire displeasure by fraternizing and playing cards with the crew, thereby creating a breach of discipline and etiquette. The offenders, somewhat overwrought by their continued incarceration, ignored the captain’s reprimand. This arrant disobedience played upon his nerves, which similarly were strung up. It did not require a very big spark to start a conflagration of tempers. The mate and engineer brooded over the captain’s remarks, and at last they waited upon him, forcibly ventilated their opinions concerning his lack of civility and of endeavours to make one and all comfortable under the trying circumstances, and expressed their determination to tolerate his overbearing manner no longer. This was the last straw from the captain’s point of view. Drawing his revolver, he growled that he was master of the lightship, and that they would have to do as he told them. There was a tussle, but the firearm was wrenched away from the master’s hands as being a somewhat too dangerous tool for a man in his overstrung condition. The crew naturally sided with the officers, and the captain was kept under surveillance until the relief-vessel came up some weeks later.