Man on the Ocean by Robert Michael Ballantyne (web ebook reader TXT) 📕

the lee gun, the other adjusting a rocket to its stick. A few hurried questions from the mate elicited all that it was needful to know. The flash of a gun from the _South-Sand-Head_ lightship, about six miles distant, had been seen, followed by a rocket, indicating that a vessel had got upon the fatal Goodwins. While the men spoke, I saw the bright flash of another gun, but heard no report, owing to the gale carrying the sound to leeward. A rocket followed, and at the same moment we observed the light of the vessel in distress just on the southern tail of the Sands. By this time our gun was charged, and the rocket in position. "Look alive, Jack! get the poker," cried the mate, as he primed the gun. Jack dived down the companion hatch, and in another moment returned with a red-hot poker, which the mate had thrust into the cabin fire at the first alarm. Jack applied it in quick succession to the gun and the rocket. A blinding flash and deafening crash were followed by the whiz of the rocket as it sprang with a magnificent curve far away into the surrounding darkness. This was our answer to the _South-Sand-Head_ light, which, having fired three guns and three rockets to attract our attention, now ceased firing. It was also our note of warning to the look-out on the pier of Ramsgate Harbour. "That's a beauty," said our mate, referring to the rocket; "get up another, Jack; sponge her well out. Jacobs, we'll give 'em another shot in a few minutes." Loud and clear were both our signals; but four and a half miles of distance and a fresh gale neutralised their influence. The look-out did not see them. In less than five minutes the gun and rocket were fired again. Still no answering signal came from Ramsgate. "Load the weather gun," said the mate. Jacobs obeyed; and I sought shelter under the lee of the weather bulwarks, for the wind appeared to be composed of pen-knives and needles. Our third gun thundered forth, and shook the lightship from stem to stern; but the rocket struck the rigging, and made a low, wavering flight. Another was therefore sent up; but it had scarcely cut its bright line across the sky, when we observed the answering signal--a rocket from Ramsgate Pier.

"That's all right now, sir; our work is done," said the mate, as he went below, and, divesting himself of his outer garments, quietly turned in; while the watch, having sponged out and re-covered the gun, resumed their active perambulation of the deck. I confess that I felt somewhat disappointed at this sudden termination of the noise and excitement. I was told that the Ramsgate lifeboat could not well be out in less than an hour. It seemed to my excited spirit a terrible thing that human lives should be kept so long in jeopardy; and, of course, I began to think, "Is it not possible to prevent this delay?" But excited spirits are not always the best judges of such matters, although they have an irresistible tendency to judge. There was nothing for it, however, but patience; so I turned in, "all standing," as sailors have it, with orders that I should be called when the lights of the tug should come in sight. It seemed but a few minutes after, when the voice of the watch was again heard shouting hastily, "Lifeboat close alongside, sir. Didn't see it till this moment. She carries no lights." I bounced out, and, minus coat, hat, and shoes, scrambled on deck, just in time to see the _Broadstairs_ lifeboat rush past us before the gale. She was close under our stern, and rendered spectrally visible by the light of our lantern. "What are you firing for?" shouted the coxswain of the boat. "Ship on the sands, bearing south," replied Jack at the full pitch of his stentorian voice. The boat did not pause. It passed with a magnificent rush into darkness. The reply had been heard; and the lifeboat shot straight as an arrow to the rescue. We often hear and read of such scenes, but vision is necessary to enable one to realise the full import of all that goes on. A strange thrill ran through me as I saw the familiar blue and white boat leaping over the foaming billows. Often had I seen it in model, and in quiescence in its boat-house-- ponderous and ungainly; but now I saw it, for the first time, endued with life. So, I fancy, warriors might speak of our heavy cavalry as we see them in barracks, and as _they_ saw them at Alma. Again all was silent and unexciting on board of the _Gull_. I went shivering below, with exalted notions of the courage and endurance of lifeboat men. Soon after, the watch once more shouted, "Tug's in sight, sir;" and once again the mate and I went on deck. On this occasion, the tug _Aid_ had made a mistake. Some one on shore had reported that the guns and rockets had been seen flashing from the _Gull_ and _North-Sand-Head_ lightships; whereas the report should have been, from the _Gull_ and _South-Sand-Head_ vessels. The single word was all-important. It involved an unnecessary run of about twelve miles, and an hour and a half's loss of time. But we mention this merely as a fact, not as a complaint. Accidents will happen. The Ramsgate lifeboat service is admirably regulated, and for once that an error of this kind can be pointed out, we can point to dozens--ay, hundreds--of cases in which the steamer and lifeboat have gone straight as the crow flies to the rescue, and have done good service on occasions when all other lifeboats would have failed, so great is the value of steam in such matters. On this occasion, however, the tug appeared late on the scene, and hailed us. When the true state of the case was ascertained, the course was directed aright, and full steam let on. The Ramsgate lifeboat, _Bradford_, was in tow far astern. As she passed us the brief questions and answers were repeated for the benefit of the coxswain of the boat. I observed that every man in the boat lay flat on the thwarts except the coxswain. No wonder. It is not an easy matter to sit up in a gale of wind, with freezing spray, and sometimes green seas, sweeping over one. They were, doubtless, wide awake, and listening; but, as far as vision went, that boat was manned with ten oilskin coats and sou'-westers. A few seconds took them out of sight; and thus, as far as the _Gull_ lightship was concerned, the drama ended. There was no possibility of our ascertaining more, at least during that night; for whatever might be the result of these efforts, the floating lights had no chance of hearing of them until the next visit of their tender. I was therefore obliged to turn in once more, at three a.m. Next forenoon we saw the wreck, bottom up, high on the Goodwin Sands.

On Friday morning, the _Alert_--tender to the lightships of this district, under command of the Trinity Superintendent, Captain Vaile-- came off to us, and we learned the name of the vessel, that she was a total wreck, and that the crew, seven men, had taken to their boat, and succeeded in reaching the _South-Sand-Head_ lightship, whence they were almost immediately after taken by the Deal lifeboat, and safely landed at Deal.

It is to be carefully observed here that, although in this case much energy was expended unnecessarily, it does not follow that it is often so expended. Often--too often--all the force of lifeboat service on this coast is insufficient to meet the demands on it. The crews of the various boats in the vicinity of the Goodwin Sands are frequently called out more than once in a night; and they are sometimes out all night, visiting various wrecks in succession. In all this work the value of the steam-tug is very conspicuous. For it can tow its boat again and again to windward, and renew the effort to save life in cases where, unaided, lifeboats would be compelled to give in. Embarking in the _Alert_, I sailed round the wreck at low water, and observed that the Deal luggers were swarming round her like flies; the crews stripping her bottom of copper, and saving her stores, while, apparently, hundreds of men were busy upon her deck dismantling her shattered hull.

This, after all, is but an insignificant episode of wreck on the Goodwins. Many wrecks there are every year much more worthy of record; but this is sufficient to give a general idea of the manner in which our great war with the storm is conducted--the promptitude with which relief is rendered, and the energy with which our brave seamen are ready to imperil their lives almost every night, all round the coast, and all the year round.


CHAPTER EIGHT.


DOCKS AND SHIPBUILDING.

Having in the previous chapters treated of the subjects of ancient navigation and ships, and given some account of the boats of the present time, we now proceed to write about modern ships. In doing so, let us turn our attention first to:--


THE DOCKYARD.

If we were a maker of riddles, we would ask our reader, "Why is a ship like a human being?" and having added, "D'ye give it up?" would reply, "Because it commences life in a cradle;" but not being a fabricator of riddles, we _don't_ ask our reader that question. We merely draw his attention to the fact that ships, like men, have not only an infancy, but also have cradles--of which more hereafter.

Let us enter one of those naval nurseries--the dockyard--where ships may be seen commencing their career. What a scene it is! What sawing and thumping, and filing, and grinding, and clinching, and hammering, without intermission, from morn till noon, and from noon till dewy eve! What a Babel of sounds and chaos of indescribable material!

That little boy whom you observe standing under the shadow of yonder hull--his hands in his pockets (of course), his mouth open (probably), and his eyes gazing up fixedly at the workmen, who cluster like bees on the ribs and timbers of yonder infant ship has stood there for more than an hour, and he will stand there, or thereabout, for many hours to come; for it happens to be a holiday with him, and he dotes on harbours and dockyards. His whole being is wrapped up in them.

And this is natural enough. Most boys delight to gaze on incomprehensible and stupendous works. Let us--you and I, reader-- follow this urchin's example, keeping our mouths shut, however, save when we mean to speak, and our eyes open.

There are ships here of every shape and size--from the little coasting-vessel to the great East Indiaman, which, in its unfinished condition, looks like the skeleton of some dire megatherium of the antediluvian world. Some of these infant ships have an enormous shed over them to protect them from the weather; others are destitute of such protection: for ships, like men, it would seem, are liable to vicissitudes of fortune. While the "great ones" of the dockyard world are comfortably housed, the small ones are not unfrequently exposed to the fitful buffeting of the rude