Our British and Irish lightships numbered fifty-nine in 1870. Each, like the lighthouse on shore, is distinguished by its own peculiar aspect—by certain differences which assist the navigator in recognizing it, and, consequently, in recognizing the particular danger he is called upon to avoid. Some have one light, some two lights, some three lights. Of these lights many are fixed, many revolving, many coloured. The building and equipment of one of these vessels[57] will cost from £2000 to £3000. Its maintenance, including the cost of oil, the wages and provisions of the men, amounts to about £1200 per annum.
The United States stand next to Great Britain in the number of lightships which they support in the interests of commercial enterprise. At one time, however, their organization was very indifferent; but of later years the system followed in England has been adopted with a few unimportant modifications. The American ships are painted in longitudinal stripes of varied colours. In very bad weather they frequently quit their posts, and return into harbour.
France has fewer lightships than either Great Britain or America, and only five whose burthen exceeds seventy tons.
Let us now say a few words in reference to the resolute crews who man these vessels.
The crew of an English lightship consists of a master, a mate, and nine men. Three out of the nine are intrusted with the service of the lamps; the six others, who always include among them a good carpenter, attend to the order and cleanliness of the vessel. It must be remembered, however, that the nine men are never all on board together; one-third are always enjoying an interval of rest on shore. Experience has proved that a perpetual sojourn on board a ship of this kind is too much for the moral and physical forces of human nature. The crushing monotony of the same scenes, the eternal spectacle of foam-crested waters rolling wherever the eye is turned, the ceaseless noise of the winds, the everlasting murmur of the ocean—swelling at times into so terrible a roar that it renders inaudible the human voice—could not fail to exercise a depressing influence on the mind. But even allowing for the occasional vacation spent upon land, the life is so uniform and unexciting that it is wonderful any man can be found to endure it; and the crews of our lightships may assuredly be ranked among the curiosities of civilization.
To mitigate the rigours of so strange a profession, the Trinity Board provides that each man shall pass one month on shore for every two months he spends on board; while the captain and the mate change places every month. But grim old Neptune does not always permit this system of reliefs to be regularly carried out. It often happens in winter that the storm and the tide are opposed to every kind of disembarkation; and between the lightship and the Scilly Islands, for instance, weeks elapse before the communication can be re-established. The men ashore are occupied in cleaning cables, painting buoys, filling the oil tins, and similar duties. We know not whether what was acknowledged by an old lightship “hand” is true of all; that all the time he was on land, he dreamed of the sea; all the time he was on board the lightship, he dreamed of the land.
The visitor of an English lightship cannot fail to be struck with its admirable condition, and with the fine appearance of its crew. Sun-tanned and weather-beaten, they are models of English sailors: frank, self-reliant, unassuming, obedient, nimble, vigorous, and resolute. They seem well-contented with their lot, and if they complain at all, it is of the quantity and quality of their provisions. The ration of bread (seven pounds a week) is not quite sufficient for hearty men, and I confess, from my own experience, that the sharp air to which they are exposed is well adapted to whet one’s appetite. When they are at sea, their food is supplied by the Trinity House; when on shore, they receive instead one shilling and threepence a day. Their wages are fifty-five shillings per month; the master receives £80 per annum.
Two men at a time are charged with the care of the lamps, the third being on shore; one of these two performs for a month the functions of a cook. Formerly, if we may believe public rumour, the lightship crews, isolated by continual tempests which rendered the sea impracticable, have been reduced to the extremest necessities, have even perished of hunger. To prevent the recurrence of such calamities, a steamboat or a good stout sailing-vessel regularly visits the lightship once a month. In the worst weather the communication is never interrupted for a longer period than six weeks, and the stock of provisions is always sufficient to last the crew for even a longer time.