WINTER AT AN OLD-WORLD HARBOUR 257 



more what a winter gale from the North Sea is like and 

 what it means to those in charge of the old-time 

 harbour. 



Harbour-master, deputy harbour-master, and staff 

 were clothed in oil-frocks, sou'-westers, and heavy top- 

 boots clothing which you would think would defy the 

 weather of the Horn itself; and yet there was not one 

 who was not soaked to the skin. Rain and snow and 

 deluge of sea beat through their garments, and the 

 glistening figures floundered at their duty in the depth 

 of discomfort. 



On the Lighthouse Pier there was thud of sea, groan 

 of machinery, clank of paddle, howl of wind, and roar of 

 human voice. At the harbour mouth there was disorder 

 and confusion, for the London boat, an ugly lump of a 

 coaster, had got athwart the entrance and there was not 

 water enough to float her. She was a danger to herself 

 and the incoming, rushing steamboats, and frantic was 

 the effort that was made to berth her, so that she should 

 be secure and taken from the track of the traffic. While 

 men on board and ashore were getting her away the 

 trawlers were running home. They rode in on the swell 

 of the seas, lost to view time after time in the snow and 

 spray-filled air. They came, now wallowing in the 

 trough, now rising on some huge crest ; at times caught 

 broadside and swept towards the harbour with appalling 

 force. You held your breath as they chunked gallantly 

 in. You saw the great waves crumble at the end of 

 the East Pier, noticed the swirl of the tide, and saw 

 dimly, as through a mist, that fatal shore on which so 

 many ships and men have perished. Over the bay, in 

 the welter, you discerned the Spa, and wondered if that 

 17 



