Lightships and Lighthouses

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

When the lantern has cooled, the keepers coming on the day shift have to clean the lamps and put them in order for service the following evening. Everything has to be overhauled and got ready for use at a moment’s notice. The oil reservoirs have to be examined and charged, and the panes of glass, with which the lantern is glazed, cleaned and brightened. The reflectors have to be polished, for they must be kept in a constant state of mirror-like brilliancy. All brasswork has to be cleaned and polished until it gleams like burnished gold, while the rooms must be washed and kept in the pink of condition, free from the smallest specks of dust.

The necessity for extreme cleanliness and spotlessness is emphasized in every lighthouse. The inspector has a highly-trained, quick eye for detecting carelessness, and he has one instinct developed peculiarly—the discovery of dust. He draws his fingers over everything, and squints quizzically at an object from all angles. Woe betide the keeper if the slightest trace of dirt is detected. Then the inspector closes the other eye, and the keeper receives a squint which does not augur well for his future. A few sharp, pointed remarks are rasped out, and it is not long before the relief-boat comes out with another man.

The engineers and other representatives of authority are remorseless. A man is judged from apparently trifling details. If he permits a door-knob to become sullied, he is just as likely to overlook the polishing of the lenses, or to perform some other vital task in a perfunctory manner.

One of the Stevensons achieved a peculiar notoriety among the Scottish keepers for his unbending attitude in this connection. He had a scent for dust and untidiness developed as keenly as that of a mouse for cheese. When his boat came alongside a light, and the keeper stepped forward to extend a helping hand, the eyes of the engineer scanned him searchingly. If the man’s appearance were not immaculate, trouble loomed ahead. This engineer maintained that if a man were indifferent to his own appearance, and permitted dust to collect upon his own clothes, he could not be trusted to maintain the delicate apparatus of a lighthouse in apple-pie order! What was more to the point, the engineer generally was correct in his deductions. He spared no effort to place the most responsible lights in the hands of men above suspicion in regard to cleanliness. Although, as this martinet confessed, nothing pained him more than to have words with any of his keepers, cleanliness had to be maintained.

By permission of the “Syren and Shipping.”

THE PUMPS WHEREBY THE OIL IS LIFTED FROM THE LOWEST FLOOR TO THE LANTERN-ROOM.

When the keeper has completed his routine duties, he is at liberty to spend his leisure according to his inclinations. As a rule the men turn these periods to advantage. Reading is a popular recreation, and the authorities maintain a circulating library, the books being changed with every relief. But the men could accept twice as much literature as is available at present. Here a word should be said concerning the Lighthouse Literature Mission and its work, which is international. The idea was conceived by Mr. Samuel H. Strain, and the work is conducted from Belfast, Ireland. The most conspicuous feature of this organization is that every penny received is turned to good and useful purpose in connection with the object. The founder conducts it without monetary reward, so that the item of “operating” charges does not swamp the greater proportion of receipts, as is the case with so many so-called missions in other fields. There are few organizations which are so deserving of financial support, because this mission brings welcome relaxation to a hard-worked community whose vigil secures the safety of those who travel on the sea. The labours of Mr. Strain are highly appreciated by those who keep watch and ward in seagirt prisons, and the mission deserves far stauncher support from the philanthropic than it receives at present. Sympathizers with the loneliness of the lighthouse-keeper are prone to think that these men are in dire need of spiritual pabulum, and are apt to send literature of an emphatic goody-goody nature. But the keeper of the light is as human as the clerk in the city. He is so accustomed to the company of Nature, and has cultivated such a deep respect for the Master of the Universe during his spells of duty, that he welcomes a diversion therefrom in his hours of leisure. A humorous paper is more welcome than a tract on the evils of drink.

When the weather is favourable the men seek a little relaxation in fishing, but here again they have to suffer considerable denial, as the tackle invariably becomes inextricably entangled with the rocks, so that the losses exceed the prizes. In the United States the greater number of the keepers maintain a garden well stocked with vegetables and flowers. The tending of these charges carries the minds of the men from their work completely, and for the opportunity to practise this hobby they are indebted to the kindness of the Government, which supplies seeds free of charge.

It is when the gale is raging tumultuously that the men in the tower are compelled to realize their position. The waves pound the rock and building so ceaselessly and relentlessly that the latter trembles and shakes like a leaf. At times the din is so deafening that the men cannot converse; they are compelled to communicate with each other by signs. The waves pick up stones and hurl them with terrific force against the lantern. Occasionally the elements triumph in their assault, and the missiles shatter the glass. To step out on the gallery in the teeth of a blizzard to clear the snow away demands no little courage. As the man emerges upon the narrow platform, he is engulfed in the swirling flakes, and often is pinned against the masonry so tightly by the wind that he cannot move a limb; at other times he is swept almost off his feet. While engaged in his freezing task, he also runs the risk of being drenched by a rising comber.