The fisherman who brought off our letters could not have landed if the weather had not been fine. Poor fellow! after I left, he lost his boat in consequence of being on too familiar terms with the Bell Rock. He was in the habit of fishing near the rock, and occasionally ran in at low-water to smoke a pipe with the keepers. One morning he stayed too long. The large green billows which had been falling with solemn boom on the outlying rocks began to lip over into the pool where his boat layPort Stevenson. Embarking in haste with his comrade he pushed off. Just then there came a tremendous wave, the crest of which toppled over Smiths Ledge, fell into the boat, and sank it like a stone. The men were saved by the keepers, but their boat was totally destroyed. They never saw a fragment of it again. What a commentary this was on the innumerable wrecks that have taken place on the Inch Cape Rock in days gone by!
Sometimes, on a dark stormy night, I used to try to realise something of this. Turning my back on the lighthouse I tried to forget it, and imagine what must have been the feelings of those who had actually stood there and been driven inch by inch to the higher ledges, with the certain knowledge that their doom was fixed, and without the comfort and assurance that, behind them, stood a strong tower of refuge from the storm!
I was fortunate, during my stay, in having experience of every variety of weatherfrom a dead calm to a regular gale. It was towards the end of my visit that the gale came on, and it lasted two days. No language can convey an adequate idea of the sublimity of the scene and the sense of power in the seething waves that waged furious war over the Rock during the height of that gale. The spray rose above the kitchen windows, (70 feet on the tower), in such solid masses as to darken the room in passing, and twice during the storm we were struck by waves with such force as to shake the tower to its foundation.
This storm delayed the Relief boat a day. Next day, however, it succeeded in getting alongsideand at length, after a most agreeable and interesting sojourn of two weeks, I parted from the hospitable keepers with sincere regret and bade adieu to a lighthouse which is not only a monument of engineering skill, but a source of safety to the shipping, and of confidence to the mariners frequenting these waters.
In former days men shunned the dreaded neighbourhood of the Inch Cape Rock with anxious care. Now, they look out for that:
Ruddy gem of changeful light
Bound on the dusky brow of night,
And make for it with perfect safety. In time past human lives, and noble ships, and costly merchandise were lost on the Bell Rock every year. Now, disaster to shipping there is not even dreamed of; and one of the most notable proofs of the value of the lighthouse, (and, indirectly, of all other lighthouses), lies in the fact, that not a single wreck has occurred on the Bell Rock since that auspicious evening in 1811 when the sturdy pillar opened its eyes for the first time, and threw its bright beams far and wide over the North Sea.
Chapter Three
Nights with the Fire Brigade
There are few lives, we should think, more trying or more full of curious adventure and thrilling incident than that of a London fireman.
He must always be on the alert. No hour of the day or night can he ever count on as being his own, unless on those occasions when he obtains leave of absence, which I suppose are not frequent. If he does not absolutely sleep in his clothes, he sleeps beside themarranged in such a way that he can jump into them at a moments notice.
When the summons comes there must be no preliminary yawning; no soft transition from the land of dreams to the world of reality. He jumps into his boots which stand invitingly ready, pulls on his trousers, buttons his braces while descending to the street, and must be brass-helmeted on the engine and away like a fiery dragon-gone-mad within three minutes of the call, or thereabouts, if he is to escape a fine.
Moreover, the London fireman must be prepared to face death at any moment. When the call comes he never knows whether he is turning out to something not much more serious than a chimney, or to one of those devastating conflagrations on the river-side in which many thousand pounds worth of property are swept away, and his life may go along with them. Far more frequently than the soldier or sailor is he liable to be ordered on a duty which shall turn out to be a forlorn hope, and not less pluckily does he obey.
There is no respite for him. The field which the London Brigade covers is so vast that the liability to be sent into action is continuouschiefly, of course, at night. At one moment he may be calmly polishing up the brasses of his engine, or skylarking with his comrades, or sedately reading a book, or snoozing in bed, and the next he may be battling fiercely with the flames. Unlike the lifeboat heroes, who may sleep when the world of waters is calm, he must be ever on the watch; for his enemy is a lurking foelike the Red Indian who pounces on you when you least expect him, and does not utter his warwhoop until he deems his victory secure. The little spark smoulders while the fireman on guard, booted and belted, keeps watch at his station. It creeps while he waits, and not until its energies have gained considerable force does it burst forth with a grand roar and bid him fierce defiance.
Even when conquered in one quarter it often leaps up in another, so that the fireman sometimes returns from the field twice or thrice in the same night to find that the enemy is in force elsewhere and that the fight must be resumed.
In the spring of 1867 I went to London to gather material for my book Fighting the Flames, and was kindly permitted by Captain Shawthen Chief of the Fire Brigadeto spend a couple of weeks at one of the principal west-end stations, and accompany the men to fires.
My first experience was somewhat stirring.
My plan was to go to the station late in the evening and remain up all night with the men on guard waiting for fires.
One day, in the afternoon, when it was growing dusk, and before I had made my first visit to the station, a broad-shouldered jovial-looking fellow in blue coat, belted, and with a sailors cap, called on me and asked if I should like to see a ouse as ad bin blowed up with gas.
Of course I was only too glad to follow him. He conducted me to an elegant mansion in Bayswater, and chatted pleasantly as we went along in somewhat nautical tones, for he had been a man-of-wars man. His name was Flaxmore.
I may remark here that the men of the London brigade were, and still are, I believe, chosen from among seamen.
You see, sir, said Flaxmore, in explanation of this fact, sailors are found to be most suitable for the brigade because theyre accustomed to strict discipline,to turn out suddenly at all hours, in all weathers, and to climbing in dangerous circumstances.
Arrived at the mansion, we found that the outside looked all right except that most of the windows were broken. The interior, however, presented a sad and curious appearance. The house had been recently done up in the most expensive style, and its gilded cornices, painted pilasters and other ornaments, with the lath and plaster of walls and ceilings had been blown into the rooms in dire confusion.
Bin a pretty considerable smash here, sir, said Flaxmore, with a genial smile on his broad countenance. I admitted the fact, and asked how it happened.
Well, sir, you see, said he, there was an orrid smell of gas in the ouse, an the missus she sent for a gas man to find out where it was, and, wouldyou believe it, sir, they went to look for it with a candle! Sure enough they found it too, in a small cupboard. The gas had been escapin, it had, but couldnt git out o that there cupboard, cause the door was a tight fit, so it had made its way all over the ouse between the lath and plaster and the walls. As soon as ever it caught light, sir, it blowed the whole place into smashas you see. It blowed the gas man flat on his back; (an sarved him right!) it blowed the missus through the doorway, an it blowed the cook(as was on the landin outside)right down the kitchen stairs, it did;but there was none of em much hurt, sir, they wasnt, beyond a bruise or two!