The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands | Page 6

the thick unyielding mast of the vessel. The lantern, which
was just a little less than its house, surrounded this mast and travelled
upon it. Beyond this the capital of the kingdom, the eye of the monarch
was arrested by another bright brass funnel, which was the chimney of
the galley-fire, and indicated the exact position of the abode of the crew,
or--to continue our metaphor--the populace, who, however, required no
such indicator to tell of their existence or locality, for the chorus of a
"nigger" melody burst from them, ever and anon, through every
opening in the decks, with jovial violence, as they sat, busily engaged
on various pieces of work below. The more remote parts of this
landscape--or light-scape, if we may be allowed the expression--were
filled up with the galley-skylight, the bitts, and the windlass, above
which towered the gong, and around which twined the two enormous
chain cables. Only one of these, however, was in use--that, with a
single mushroom-anchor, being sufficient to hold the ship securely
against tide and tempest.
In reference to this we may remark in passing that the cable of a
floating light is frequently renewed, and that the chafing of the links at
the hawse-hole is distributed by the occasional paying out or hauling in
of a few yards of chain--a process which is styled "easing the nip."
"Horroo! me hearty, ye're as clain as a lady's watch," exclaimed a man
of rugged form but pleasant countenance, as he issued from the small
doorway of the lantern-house with a bundle of waste in one hand and
an oil-can in the other.
This was one of the lamplighters of the light-ship--Jerry MacGowl--a
man whose whole soul was, so to speak, in that lantern. It was his duty
to clip and trim the wicks, and fill the lamps, and polish the reflectors
and brasses, and oil the joints and wheels (for this was a revolving--in
other words a flashing light), and clean the glasses and windows. As

there were nine lights to attend to, and get ready for nightly service, it
may be easily understood that the lamplighter's duty was no sinecure.
The shout of Jerry recalled the king from his contemplation of things in
general to the lantern in particular.
"All ready to hoist, Jerry?" inquired Mr Welton, going forward.
"All ready, sir," exclaimed the man, looking at his handiwork with
admiration, and carefully removing a speck of dust that had escaped his
notice from one of the plate-glass windows; "An't she a purty thing
now?--baits the best Ginaiva watch as iver was made. Ye might ait yer
supper off her floor and shave in the reflictors."
"That's a fact, Jerry, with no end of oil to your salad too," said Mr
Welton, surveying the work of the lamplighter with a critical eye.
"True for ye," replied Jerry, "an' as much cotton waste as ye like
without sinful extravagance."
"The sun will be down in a few minutes," said the mate, turning round
and once more surveying the western horizon.
Jerry admitted that, judging from past experience, there was reason to
believe in the probability of that event; and then, being of a poetical
temperament, he proceeded to expatiate upon the beauty of the evening,
which was calm and serene.
"D'ye know, sir," he said, gazing towards the shore, between which and
the floating light a magnificent fleet of merchantmen lay at anchor
waiting for a breeze--each vessel reflected clearly in the water along
with the dazzling clouds of gold that towered above the setting
sun--"D'ye know, sir, I niver sees a sky like that but it minds me o' the
blissid green hills an' purty lakes of owld Ireland, an' fills me buzzum
wid a sort of inspiration till it feels fit a'most to bust."
"You should have been a poet, Jerry," observed the mate, in a
contemplative tone, as he surveyed the shipping through his telescope.

"Just what I've often thought mesilf, sir," replied Jerry, wiping his
forehead with the bunch of waste--"many a time I've said to mesilf, in a
thoughtful mood--
"Wan little knows what dirty clo'es May kiver up a poet; What fires
may burn an' flout an' skurn, An' no wan iver know it."
"That's splendid, Jerry; but what's the meanin' of `skurn?'"
"Sorrow wan of me knows, sir, but it conveys the idee somehow; don't
it, now?"
"I'm not quite sure that it does," said the mate, walking aft and
consulting his chronometer for the last time, after which he put his head
down the hatchway and shouted, "Up lights!" in a deep sonorous voice.
"Ay, ay, sir," came the ready response from below, followed by the
prompt appearance of the other lamplighter and the four seamen who
composed the crew of the vessel Jerry turned on