THE “6-BAR” FLOATING AUTOMATIC WIGHAM LIGHT IN PORTSMOUTH HARBOUR.
This beacon, burning crude petroleum, burns for thirty days on a single oil charge.
When the Scandinavian liner Norge, while on her way to the United States in July, 1904, fouled the terrible Rockall and lost 750 of her passengers, the outcry about the absence of all means of indicating this spot to the navigator vibrated round the world. Yet it was a useless agitation. Rockall is a no-man’s land; no nation has planted its flag upon its cone of granite; no Power cares whether it continues its harvest of human lives or otherwise. The various countries appear to think that it is too much off the map to be worthy of a moment’s thought; its existence is brought home only by a holocaust.
After this heartrending disaster, Messrs. D. and C. Stevenson adumbrated a promising means of indicating this awful graveyard to the seafarer. They suggested that two automatic unattended lightships should be constructed, and that one should relieve the other every six months. The project was eminently practicable, but every country seemed to shirk responsibility in the expense of its adoption. But Rockall is a unique danger spot; in no other part of the known world does such a formidable isolated peak of granite rise from the ocean depths, for it is in mid-Atlantic, 160 miles west of St. Kilda, and 290 miles off the Scottish mainland. It may be away from the great steamship lanes of the Atlantic, yet a vast volume of shipping passes within sight of its curious formation. Seeing that the foremost maritime Powers defray between them the cost of maintaining the light off Cape Spartel, surely the dictates of humanity are sufficiently pressing to secure the indication of this islet. The maintenance of an unattended automatic beacon, such as Messrs. Stevenson advocated, would not impose a severe strain upon the treasuries of the leading Powers of the world, whose interests are associated intimately with the North Atlantic.
The perfection of the unattended lightship, working automatically, has provided the lighthouse engineer with a powerful weapon for marking the most exposed and out-of-the-way danger spots. When the new development is carried to its uttermost lengths, no graveyard of the ocean, no matter how remote and inaccessible, need be without means of warning shipping of its whereabouts.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE LIGHT-KEEPER AND HIS LIFE
The life of the guardian of a blazing signpost of the coast is much the same the whole world over. It is unavoidably monotonous under the best conditions. Each succeeding day and night brings a similar round of toil, with very little variation. There are the same duties to be performed in strict accordance with routine, and under normal circumstances there are many idle hours which have to be whiled away as best one can. On the mainland, especially in the South of England, France, Germany, and the United States, the loneliness and monotony are not felt so keenly by the wardens of the light, as in many instances they are in close proximity to ports and towns, where a little welcome relaxation may be obtained during the rest spells; while in the summer evenings, if the lights should be only a few miles away from civilization, visitors are frequent. Again, the keepers as a rule live with their families in cosy solid buildings, and, having a stretch of garden flanking their homes, can expend their hours of leisure to advantage.
On the isolated, lonely rock, however, the conditions are vastly different. The average person, when regarding on a calm day the tall slim outlines of a tower rising from the water, is apt to regard the life of those responsible for keeping the light going as one enveloped in romance and peace, far removed from the trials and worries of the maelstrom of civilization. But twenty-four hours on one of these beacons completely dispel all romantic impression. The gilt of fascination wears away quickly, and the visitor recognizes only too forcibly the terrible desolation of it all, and admires the little band of men who watch vigilantly over the deep for the guidance of those who go down to the sea in ships.