The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands | Page 7

his heel, murmuring,
in a tone of pity, that the mate, poor man, "had no soul for poethry."
Five of the crew manned the winch; the mate and Jerry went to a
block-tackle which was also connected with the lifting apparatus. Then
the order to hoist was given, and immediately after, just as the sun went
down, the floating light went up,--a modest yet all-important luminary
of the night. Slowly it rose, for the lantern containing it weighed full
half a ton, and caused the hoisting chain and pulleys to groan
complainingly. At last it reached its destination at the head of the thick
part of the mast, but about ten or fifteen feet beneath the ball. As it
neared the top, Jerry sprang up the chain-ladder to connect the lantern
with the rod and pinion by means of which, with clockwork beneath, it
was made to revolve and "flash" once every third of a minute.
Simultaneously with the ascent of the Gull light there arose out of the
sea three bright stars on the nor'-eastern horizon, and another star in the
south-west. The first were the three fixed lights of the lightship that
marked the North sandhead; the latter was the fixed light that guarded
the South sandhead. The Goodwin sentinels were now placed for the

night, and the commerce of the world might come and go, and pass
those dreaded shoals, in absolute security.
Ere long the lights of the shipping in the Downs were hung out, and
one by one the lamps on shore shone forth--those which marked the
entrance of Ramsgate harbour being conspicuous for colour and
brilliancy--until the water, which was so calm as to reflect them all,
seemed alive with perpendicular streams of liquid fire; land and sea
appearing to be the subjects of one grand illumination. A much less
poetical soul than that of the enthusiastic lamp-lighter might have felt a
touch of unwonted inspiration on such a night, and in such a scene. The
effect on the mind was irresistibly tranquillising. While contemplating
the multitudes of vessels that lay idle and almost motionless on the
glassy water, the thought naturally arose that each black hull
en-shrouded human beings who were gradually sinking into
rest--relaxing after the energies of the past day--while the sable cloak of
night descended, slowly and soothingly, as if God were spreading His
hand gently over all to allay the fever of man's busy day-life and calm
him into needful rest.
The watch of the floating light having been set, namely, two men to
perambulate the deck--a strict watch being kept on board night and
day-- the rest of the crew went below to resume work, amuse
themselves, or turn in as they felt inclined.
While they were thus engaged, and darkness was deepening on the
scene, Welton stood on the quarterdeck observing a small sloop that
floated slowly towards the lightship. Her sails were indeed set, but no
breath of wind bulged them out; her onward progress was caused by the
tide, which had by that time begun to set with a strong current to the
northward. When within about a cable's length, the rattle of her chain
told that the anchor had been let go. A few minutes later, a boat was
seen to push off from the sloop and make for the lightship. Two men
rowed it and a third steered. Owing to the force of the current they
made the vessel with some difficulty.
"Heave us a rope," cried one of the men, as they brushed past.

"No visitors allowed aboard," replied Mr Welton sternly; catching up,
nevertheless, a coil of rope.
"Hallo! father, surely you've become very unhospitable," exclaimed
another voice from the boat.
"Why, Jim, is that you, my son?" cried the mate, as he flung the coil
over the side.
The boatmen caught it, and next moment Jim stood on the deck--a tall
strapping young seaman of twenty or thereabouts--a second edition of
his father, but more active and lithe in his motions.
"Why you creep up to us, Jim, like a thief in the night. What brings you
here, lad, at such an hour?" asked Mr Welton, senior, as he shook hands
with his son.
"I've come to have a talk with 'ee, father. As to creeping like a thief, a
man must creep with the tide when there's no wind, d'ye see, if he don't
come to an anchor. 'Tis said that time and tide wait for no man; that
bein' so, I have come to see you now that I've got the chance. That's
where it is. But I can't stay long, for old Jones will--"
"What!" interrupted the mate with a frown, as he led his son to the
forepart of the vessel, in order to be out of earshot