Part 23 (2/2)
But of all the wide-spread and far-reaching turmoil; the wreck and rescue, the rending and relieving of hearts, the desperate daring, and dread disasters of that night we shall say nothing at all, save in regard to that which occurred on and in the neighbourhood of the Goodwin Sands.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
A NIGHT OF WRECK AND DISASTER--THE GULL ”COMES TO GRIEF.”
When the storm began to brew that night, George Welton, the mate of the floating light, walked the deck of his boiled-lobster-like vessel, and examined the sky and sea with that critical expression peculiar to seafaring men, which conveys to landsmen the rea.s.suring impression that they know exactly what is coming, precisely what ought to be done, and certainly what will be the result of whatever happens!
After some minutes spent in profound meditation, during which Mr Welton frowned inquiringly at the dark driving clouds above him, he said, ”It'll be pretty stiff.”
This remark was made to himself, or to the clouds, but, happening to be overheard by Jerry MacGowl, who was at his elbow, it was answered by that excellent man.
”True for ye; it'll blow great guns before midnight. The sands is showin' their teeth already.”
The latter part of this remark had reference to brilliant white lines and dots on the seaward horizon, which indicated breakers on the Goodwin sands.
”Luk at that now,” said Jerry, pointing to one of those huge clumsy vessels that are so frequently met with at sea, even in the present day, as to lead one to imagine that some of the s.h.i.+pbuilders in the time of Noah must have come alive again and gone to work at their old trade on the old plans and drawings. ”Luk at that, now. Did iver ye see sitch a tub--straight up and down the side, and as big at the bow as the stern.”
”She's not clipper built,” answered the mate; ”they make that sort o'
s.h.i.+p by the mile and sell her by the fathom,--cuttin' off from the piece just what is required. It don't take long to plaster up the ends and stick a mast or two into 'em.”
”It's in luck she is to git into the Downs before the gale breaks, and it's to be hoped she has good ground-tackle,” said Jerry.
The mate hoped so too in a careless way, and, remarking that he would go and see that all was made snug, went forward.
At that moment there came up the fore-hatch a yell, as if from the throat of a North American savage. It terminated in the couplet, tunefully sung--
”Oh my! oh my!
O mammy, don't you let the baby cry!”
Jack Shales, following his voice, immediately after came on deck.
”Have 'ee got that work-box done?” asked Jerry as his mate joined him.
”Not quite done yet, boy, but I'll get it finished after the lights are up. Duty first, pleasure afterwards, you know.”
”Come now, Jack, confess that you're makin' it for a pretty girl.”
”Well, so I am, but it ain't for my own pretty girl. It's for that sweet little Nora Jones, who came lately to live in Ramsgate. You see I know she's goin' to be spliced to Jim Welton, and as Jim is a good sort of fellow, I want to make this little gift to his future bride.”
The gift referred to was a well-made work-box, such as the men of the floating light were at that time, and doubtless still are, in the habit of constructing in leisure hours. It was beautifully inlaid with wood of various kinds and colours, and possessed a mark peculiarly characteristic of floating-light boxes and desks, namely, two flags inlaid on the lid--one of these being the Union Jack. Most of the men on board displayed much skill and taste in the making of those boxes and desks, although they were all self-taught, and wrought with very simple tools in a not very commodious workshop.
”A great change from yesterday in the look o' things, Jerry,” observed Shales, surveying the Downs, where, despite the stiff and ever increasing breeze amounting almost to a gale, numerous little pilot-boats were seen dancing on the waves, showing a mere shred of canvas, and looking out for a job. ”Yesterday was all suns.h.i.+ne and calm, with pleasure-boats round us, and visitors heaving noospapers aboard. To-day it's all gloom, with gales brewin' and pilots bobbin'
about like Mother Cary's chickens.”
”That's true, Jack,” replied Jerry, whose poetic soul was fired by the thought:--
”`Timpest an' turmoil to-day, With lots a' salt-wather an' sorrow.
Blue little waves on the say, An' sunny contintment to-morrow.'
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