_By permission of the Lighthouse Literature Mission._
The vessel is also equipped with 200 horse-power oil-engines, driving an air-compressor for the operation of the fog-siren, the air being stored in reservoirs in the hold and maintained at the working pressure, so that the signal may be brought into service at a moment’s notice. The vessel is also furnished with a Pintsch submarine bell, driven by compressed air. When not required, this bell is housed amidships on the spar-deck, and when the occasion arises for its service it is lowered into the water through an open tube built in the ship for this purpose. This important light-vessel carries a full complement of thirteen men, including the captain, mate, and engineer. The arrangement is, one-third of the crew on shore-leave at a time; but this does not apply to the winter months, when the full number has to remain on board, owing to the duties being more arduous and continuous during that season of the year.
“Fire Island!” What a thrill the sound of this name sends through the floating town approaching the New World from Europe. Its effect is magical among the emigrants who scan the horizon eagerly for the first glimpse of this outpost of the new home, in which all their hopes are centred. The sullen red hull of this flush-deck, schooner-rigged steam-vessel, with her two masts, and name painted in huge white letters on her flanks, rides in 96 feet of water, nine and three-eighth miles south of Fire Island lighthouse. A few miles beyond is a similar craft marking the Nantucket Shoals, whence incoming and outgoing vessels are reported, while the end of the chain is “No. 87,” marking the Ambrose Channel off the entrance to New York.
But the light-vessel controlled by the United States which occupies the most responsible and perilous post is the _Diamond Shoal_, off Cape Hatteras. It throws its warning rays from a spot about four and five-eighth miles beyond the most seaward point of this terrible ocean graveyard, and is thirteen and five-eighth miles distant from Cape Hatteras light on the mainland. A long way from the actual danger spot, you say, but the little squad of men who have to maintain the light through storm and calm will tell you that the situation, in 180 feet of water, is quite as near as is pleasant when there is the ever-present danger of anchors being dragged, or of the craft breaking adrift under the force of the cyclonic disturbances which ravage this sinister coast. Even in calm weather the relief-boat has many anxious moments, owing to the swell and currents, while storms rise with startling suddenness. While the exchange of men is being made and stores are being transferred, a keen lookout is kept by the relief-boat hands so as to be ready to cut and run for the open sea the moment the clouds begin to collect ominously. In these latitudes the weather is placid one minute; the next the elements are writhing in fury.