The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands | Page 3

ridiculous practice of shaving--a practice which, as
every one knows, is now confined chiefly to very old men--who
naturally find it difficult to give up the bad habit of a lifetime--and to
little boys, who erroneously suppose that the use of a sharp penknife
will hasten Nature's operations.
Exactly at nine o'clock, a knock at the door and "'Ot water, sir,"

sounded in the ears of Nunber 27. At half-past nine precisely Number
27 entered the coffee-room, and was so closely followed by the waiter
with breakfast that it seemed as if that self-sacrificing functionary had
sat up all night keeping the meal hot in order to testify, by excessive
punctuality, the devotion of his soul to duty.
The keen-eyed man had a keen appetite, if one might judge from
appearances in such a matter. A thick underdone steak that
overwhelmed his plate appeared to melt away rapidly from before him.
Potatoes he disposed of in two bites each; small ones were immolated
whole. Of mustard he used as much as might have made a small-sized
plaster; pepper he sowed broadcast; he made no account whatever of
salt, and sugar was as nothing before him. There was a peculiar crash in
the sound produced by the biting of his toast, which was suggestive at
once of irresistible power and thorough disintegration. Coffee went
down in half-cup gulps; shrimps disappeared in shoals, shells and all;
and--in short, his proceedings might have explained to an intelligent
observer how it is that so many men grow to be exceedingly fat, and
why it is that hotel proprietors cannot afford to lower their apparently
exorbitant charges. The waiter, standing modestly by, and looking on
with solemn interest, mentally attributed the traveller's extraordinary
powers and high health to the fact that he neither smoked nor drank. It
would be presumptuous in us to hazard a speculation on this subject in
the face of an opinion held by one who was so thoroughly competent to
judge.
Breakfast over, the keen-eyed man put on his hat and overcoat and
sallied forth to the harbour, where he spent the greater part of the
forenoon in loitering about, inspecting the boats--particularly the
lifeboat--and the shipping with much interest, and entering into
conversation with the boatmen who lounged upon the pier. He was very
gracious to the coxswain of the lifeboat--a bluff, deep-chested, hearty,
neck-or-nothing sort of man, with an intelligent eye, almost as keen as
his own, and a manner quite as prompt. With this coxswain he
conversed long about the nature of his stirring and dangerous duties. He
then made inquiry about his crew: how many men he had, and their
circumstances; and, by the way, whether any of them happened to be

named Jones. One of them was so named, the coxswain said--Tom
Jones. This led the traveller to ask if Tom Jones owned a small sloop.
No, he didn't own a sloop, not even a boat. Was there any other Jones
in the town who owned a small sloop and dealt largely in cured fish?
Yes there was, and he was a regular gallow's-bird, if all reports were
true, the coxswain told him.
The traveller did not press the subject long. Having brought it up as it
were incidentally, he dismissed it carelessly, and again concentrated his
attention and interest on the lifeboat.
To all the men with whom he conversed this bluff man with the keen
grey eyes put the same question, and he so contrived to put it that it
seemed to be a matter of comparatively little interest to him whether
there was or was not a man of the name of Jones in the town.
Nevertheless, he gained all the information about Jones that he desired,
and then, hiring a boat, set out for the floating light.
The weather, that had appeared threatening during the night, suddenly
became calm and fine, as if to corroborate the statement of the waiter of
the Fortress Hotel in regard to its uncertainty; but knowing men in
oilcloth sou'westers and long boots gave it as their opinion that the
weather was not to be trusted. Fortunately for the traveller, it remained
trustworthy long enough to serve his purpose. The calm permitted his
boat to go safely alongside of the light-ship, and to climb up the side
without difficulty.
The vessel in which he found himself was not by any means what we
should style clipper-built--quite the reverse. It was short for its length,
bluff in the bows, round in the stern, and painted all over, excepting the
mast and deck, of a bright red colour, like a great scarlet dragon, or a
gigantic boiled lobster. It might have been mistaken for the first attempt
in the ship-building way of an infatuated boy, whose acquaintance with
ships was founded