“That curious, almost ridiculous-looking craft,” writes Mr. Ballantyne, “was among the aristocracy of shipping. Its important office stamped it with nobility. It lay there, conspicuous in its royal colour, from day to day and year to year, to mark the fair-way between Old England and the outlying shoals, distinguished in daylight by a huge ball at its mast-head, and at night by a magnificent lantern, with argand lamps and concave reflectors, which shot rays like lightning far and wide over the watery waste, while in thick weather, when neither ball nor light could be discerned, a sonorous gong gave its deep-toned warning to the approaching mariner, and let him know his position amidst the surrounding dangers.”
Here the writer bestows well-deserved praise upon the services, “disinterested and universal,” of this lonely craft, and afterwards tells you what would meet the eye, if, leaning against the stern, you gazed along the deck forward.
“It was an interesting kingdom in detail. Leaving out of view all that which was behind him, and which, of course, he could not see, we may remark that just before him stood the binnacle and compass, and the cabin skylight. On his right and left the territory of the quarter deck was seriously circumscribed and the promenade much interfered with by the ship’s boats, which, like their parent, were painted red, and which did not hang at the davits, but, like young lobsters of the kangaroo type, found shelter within their mother when not at sea on their own account. Near to them were two signal carronades. Beyond the skylight rose the bright brass funnel of the cabin chimney, and the winch by means of which the lantern was hoisted. Then came another skylight and the companion hatch about the centre of the deck. Just beyond this stood the most important part of the vessel—the lantern-house. This was a circular wooden structure about six feet in diameter, with a door and small windows.
“Inside was the lantern—the beautiful piece of mechanism for which the light-ship, its crew and appurtenances, were maintained. Right through the centre of this house rose the thick, unyielding mast of the vessel. The lantern, which was just a little less than its house, surrounded the mast and travelled upon it.” Immediately at sundown the order “Up lights” was given, regular as the sun itself. The lantern was connected with the rod and pinion, by means of which with the clock-work beneath, the light was made to revolve and “flash” once every third of a minute. The glass of the lantern is frequently broken, not by wind and wave, but by the sea-birds, which dash violently against it. In a single night, nine panes of [pg 246]a light-house were shattered from this cause. On one occasion one thousand wild ducks were caught by the crew of a light-ship. It is necessary to defend with trellis-work the lights most exposed.
The cabin of the Floating Light was marvellously neat and clean. Everything was put away in its proper place, not only as the result of order and discipline, but on account of the extreme smallness of the cabin. The author of the work from which we quote depicts a scene on board during a night of storms when a wreck and unexpected rescue took place:—“A little before midnight, while I was rolling uneasily in my ‘bunk,’ contending with sleep and sea-sickness, and moralising on the madness of those who choose ‘the sea’ for a profession, I was roused—and sickness instantly cured—by the watch on deck suddenly shouting down the hatchway to the mate, ‘South Sand Head light is firing, sir, and sending up rockets.’ The mate sprang from his ‘bunk,’ and was on the cabin-floor before the sentence was well finished. I followed suit, and pulled on coat, nether garments, and shoes, as if my life depended on my own speed. There was unusual need for clothing, for the night was bitterly cold. On gaining the deck, we found the two men on duty actively at work—the one loading the lee gun, the other adjusting a rocket to its stick. A few hurried questions from the mate elicited all that it was needful to know.
“The flash of the gun from the ‘South Sand Head’ light-ship, about six miles off, had been distinctly seen a third time, and a third rocket went up, indicating that a vessel had struck upon the fatal Goodwin Sands. The report of the gun could not be heard, owing to the gale carrying the sound to leeward, but the bright line of the rocket was distinctly visible. At the same moment the glaring light of a burning tar-barrel was observed. It was the signal of the vessel in distress, just on the southern tail of the sands.
“By this time the gun was charged, and the rocket in position.
“One of the crew dived down the companion-hatch, and in another moment returned with a red-hot poker, which the mate had thrust into the cabin fire at the first alarm. He applied it in quick succession to the gun and rocket. A blinding flash and deafening crash were followed by the whiz of the rocket as it sprang with a magnificent curve far away into the surrounding darkness.
“This was their answer to the South Sand Head light, which, having fired three guns and sent up three rockets to attract the attention of the Gull, then ceased firing. It was also their first note of warning to the look-out on the pier of Ramsgate Harbour. Of the three light-ships that guarded the sands, the Gull lay nearest to Ramsgate; hence, which ever of the other two happened to send up signals, the Gull had to reply, and thenceforward to continue repeating them until the attention of the Ramsgate look-out should be gained, and a reply given.
“The steam tug Aid, which always attends upon, and takes in tow, the Ramsgate life-boat, soon hove in sight, going to the rescue, thus showing the great value of steam in such matters. Having learnt the direction of the wreck from the mate of the light-ship, they proceeded on their course.”