The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands | Page 5

six feet in height, with a profusion of red hair, huge
whiskers, and a very peculiar expression of countenance, in which were
united calm self-possession, coolness, and firmness, with great

good-humour and affability.
"You are Mr Welton, I presume?" said the traveller abruptly, touching
his hat with his forefinger in acknowledgment of a similar salute from
the mate.
"That is my name, sir."
"Will you do me the favour to read this letter?" said the traveller,
selecting a document from a portly pocket-book, and presenting it.
Without reply the mate unfolded the letter and quietly read it through,
after which he folded and returned it to his visitor, remarking that he
should be happy to furnish him with all the information he desired, if
he would do him the favour to step down into the cabin.
"I may set your mind at rest on one point at once," observed the
stranger, as he moved towards the companion-hatch, "my investigations
have no reference whatever to yourself."
Mr Welton made no reply, but a slight look of perplexity that had
rested on his brow while he read the letter cleared away.
"Follow me, Mr Larks," he said, turning and descending the ladder
sailor-fashion--which means crab-wise.
"Do you happen to know anything," asked Mr Larks, as he prepared to
follow, "about a man of the name of Jones? I have come to inquire
particularly about him, and about your son, who, I am told--"
The remainder of the sentence was lost in the cabin of the floating light.
Here, with the door and skylight shut, the mate remained closeted for a
long time in close conference with the keen-eyed man, much to the
surprise of the two men who constituted the watch on deck, because
visitors of any kind to a floating light were about as rare as snowflakes
in July, and the sudden advent of a visitor, who looked and acted
mysteriously, was in itself a profound mystery. Their curiosity,
however, was only gratified to this extent, that they observed the

stranger and the mate through the skylight bending earnestly over
several newspapers spread out before them on the cabin table.
In less than an hour the keen-eyed man re-appeared on deck, bade the
mate an abrupt good-bye, nodded to the men who held the ropes for
him, descended into the boat, and took his departure for the shore
whence he had come.
By this time the sun was beginning to approach the horizon. The mate
of the floating light took one or two turns on the deck, at which he
gazed earnestly, as if his future destiny were written there. He then
glanced at the compass and at the vessel's bow, after which he leant
over the side of the red-dragon, and looked down inquiringly at the
flow of the tide. Presently his attention was fixed on the shore, behind
which the sun was about to set, and, after a time, he directed a stern
look towards the sky, as if he were about to pick a quarrel with that part
of the universe, but thinking better of it, apparently, he unbent his
brows, let his eyes fall again on the deck, and muttered to himself,
"H'm! I expected as much."
What it was that he expected, Mr John Welton never told from that day
to this, so it cannot be recorded here, but, after stating the fact, he
crossed his arms on his broad chest, and, leaning against the stern of his
vessel, gazed placidly along the deck, as if he were taking a complacent
survey of the vast domain over which he ruled.
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, above six feet in
diameter, with a door and small windows. Inside was the lantern--the
beautiful piece of costly mechanism for which the light-ship, its crew,
and its appurtenances were maintained. Right through the centre of this
house rose