ren of the two men. They likewise
bestowed their silver medal and a vote of thanks, inscribed on vellum,
to Mr Lawrence Byrne, of the coastguard, in testimony of his gallant
services on the occasion. Contributions were also raised by a local
committee for the relief of the sufferers by these disasters, and a
Volunteer Corps was formed to assist in working the rocket apparatus on
future occasions of shipwreck.

Let me at this point earnestly request the reader who dwells in an
_inland_ home, and who never hears the roaring of the terrible sea,
carefully to note that in this case it was _men of the coast_ who did
the work, and _people of the coast town_ who gave subscriptions, who
sympathised with sufferers, and raised a Volunteer Corps. Ponder this
well, good reader, and ask yourself the question, "Is all as it should
be here? Have I and my fellow-inlanders nothing to do but read, admire,
and say, Well done?" A hint is sufficient at this point. I will return
to the subject hereafter.

Sometimes our gallant lifeboat-men when called into action go through a
very different and not very comfortable experience. They neither gain a
glorious victory nor achieve a partial success, but, after all their
efforts, risks, and exposure, find that their services are not required,
and that they must return meekly home with nothing to reward them but an
approving conscience!

One such incident I once had the opportunity of observing. I was living
at the time--for purposes of investigation, and by special permission--
on board of the Gull Lightship, which lies directly off Ramsgate
Harbour, close to the Goodwin Sands. It was in the month of March.
During the greater part of my two weeks' sojourn in that lightship the
weather was reasonably fine, but one evening it came on to blow hard,
and became what Jack styles "dirty." I went to rest that night in a
condition which may be described as semi-sea-sick. For some time I lay
in my bunk moralising on the madness of those who choose the sea for a
profession. Suddenly I was roused--and the seasickness instantly
cured--by the watch on deck shouting down the hatchway to the mate,
"South Sand Head Light is firing, sir, and sending up rockets!"

The mate sprang from his bunk--just opposite to mine--and was on the
cabin floor before the sentence was well finished. Thrusting the poker
with violence into the cabin fire, he rushed on deck. I jumped up and
pulled on coat, nether garmen