The gift referred to was a well-made work-box, such as the men of the floating light were at that time, and doubtless still are, in the habit of constructing in leisure hours. It was beautifully inlaid with wood of various kinds and colours, and possessed a mark peculiarly characteristic of floating-light boxes and desks, namely, two flags inlaid on the lid—one of these being the Union Jack. Most of the men on board displayed much skill and taste in the making of those boxes and desks, although they were all self-taught, and wrought with very simple tools in a not very commodious workshop.
“A great change from yesterday in the look o’ things, Jerry,” observed Shales, surveying the Downs, where, despite the stiff and ever increasing breeze amounting almost to a gale, numerous little pilot-boats were seen dancing on the waves, showing a mere shred of canvas, and looking out for a job. “Yesterday was all sunshine and calm, with pleasure-boats round us, and visitors heaving noospapers aboard. To-day it’s all gloom, with gales brewin’ and pilots bobbin’ about like Mother Cary’s chickens.”
“That’s true, Jack,” replied Jerry, whose poetic soul was fired by the thought:—
“‘Timpest an’ turmoil to-day,
With lots a’ salt-wather an’ sorrow.
Blue little waves on the say,
An’ sunny contintment to-morrow.’
“That’s how it is, Jack, me boy, all the world over—even in owld Ireland hersilf; an’ sure if there’s pace to be found on earth it’s there it’s to be diskivered.”
“Right, Jerry, peace is to be discovered there, but I’m afraid it’s in a very distant future as yet,” said Jack with a laugh.
“All in good time,” retorted Jerry.
“Up lights!” called the mate down the hatchway.
“Ay, ay, sir,” came in chorus from below.
Desks and boxes were thrust aside, the winch was manned, and the weighty lantern mounted slowly to its nocturnal watch-tower.