294 NORTH SEA FISHERS AND FIGHTERS 



the London steamers land and embark passengers, there 

 are men on duty ceaselessly. 



When it is dark, one man on watch outside is 

 constantly looking towards the Goodwins the man 

 who, when the town clocks chime the hours, repeats the 

 time, ship's fashion, on the bell near the watch-house. 



In the interior, men are awake or sleeping in their 

 hammocks, slung high above the floor, but ready to 

 obey a summons instantly. 



In the harbour, the Aid, successor of the Vulcan, is 

 ever ready ; and near her is the lifeboat, always afloat, 

 like the tug. One seaman and one fireman are constantly 

 on duty on board the Aid, but the harbour-master has 

 the power to order all the members of the crew to stand 

 by in bad weather, to be ready for emergencies. 



Day and night, throughout the year, steam is up on 

 board the tug, and when the time for action comes 

 "the fireman shakes the fires up, the deck-hand gets 

 the lights ready, and, when everything is done, off they 

 go." That is a watchman's way of describing to me 

 the ceremony of departure to a wreck. 



But there is in it far more than that, and much 

 more than the public ever realises. The watchman 

 spoke truly when he added that, during a long, dark 

 night, the lifeboat might go out half a dozen times 

 without the public, snugly sleeping in their beds, being 

 aware of its dangerous expeditions. 



The manning of the Ramsgate boat for service is 

 a strange and rousing] bit of work. Take a wild 

 Goodwins night the wind whistling and roaring, and 

 the sea thundering and crumbling on the sandy 

 beach near the watch-house, indicating heavier and 



