56 THE CALL OF THE SEA 



rosde tres haute, qui etait un promontoire de la 

 sombre Islande. . . . 



Pierre Loti, 



Dawn in the Lighthouse ^o <:^ 



(From Many Inventions) 



C\^ the English south-coast Lights, that of St. 

 Cecilia-under-the-Cliff is the most powerful, 

 for it guards a very foggy coast. When the sea- 

 mist veils all, St. Cecilia turns a hooded head to 

 the sea and sings a song of two words once every 

 minute. From the land that song resembles the 

 bellowing of a brazen bull ; but off-shore they 

 understand, and the steamers grunt gratefully in 

 answer. 



Fenwick, who was on duty one night, lent me a 

 pair of black glass spectacles, without which no 

 man can look at the Light unblinded, and busied 

 himself in last touches to the lenses before twi- 

 light fell. The width of the English Channel 

 beneath us lay as smooth and as many-coloured 

 as the inside of an oyster shell. A little Sunder- 

 land cargo-boat had made her signal to Lloyd's 

 Agency, half a mile up the coast, and was lumber- 

 ing down to the sunset, her wake lying white behind 

 her. One star came out over the cliffs, the waters 

 turned to lead colour, and St. Cecilia's Light shot 

 out across the sea in eight long pencils that 



