Fortunately, the men watching over the lights appreciate the gravity of their responsibility, and are reliable to an heroic degree. Each is a man picked for the duty, who is not appalled by loneliness, and is of unimpeachable precision. Of course, accidents will happen, but dereliction of duty is criminal, because it may bring about loss of life. Carelessness on the part of a light-keeper precipitated the loss of the steamer _Victoria_ when crossing the English Channel from Newhaven to Dieppe on April 12, 1887. The French coast, as it was being approached, became shrouded by the inexorable fog-fiend. The captain lost his way, although he knew, from the time he had been steaming, that he must be perilously near the French shore. He listened for the droning of the fog-siren mounted on Pointe d’Ailly, but in vain. He sent to the engine-room to ascertain the number of revolutions the engines had made, and this convinced him that he must be close inshore, despite the silence of the fog-signal. Thinking that he might have strayed some distance east of Dieppe, he brought his vessel round, and then crawled slowly ahead. But he had scarcely settled into his forward stride when there was a crash--a terrible splitting and crunching. The vessel had kept a true course, and now had hit the very rocks which the captain had sought to avoid. The passengers, being ready to land, were got into the boats and pushed through the dense curtain for land, but some thirty passengers and crew were never seen again. The subsequent inquiry revealed an amazing breach of duty on the part of those in charge of the light-station. The head lighthouse-keeper, off duty at the time, was asleep in bed, but his wife awoke him as she observed the fog settling upon the water. He dressed hurriedly, and rushed to see what his companion was doing. This official had failed lamentably in his duties. Instead of starting the boiler fires to raise the steam to work the siren upon the first signs of the approaching enemy, as he should have done, he had delayed the duty. The result was that an hour was wasted, and during this interval the unfortunate captain took his ship upon the rocks. To make matters worse, the keepers did not perceive the wreck until some two hours after the disaster, although they admitted that they heard the cries of people an hour and a half previously, but never suspected the cause of the turmoil. The man on watch during the night maintains a keen lookout. The faintest signs of a gathering mist are sufficient to cause him to wake his assistant to manipulate the fog-signal, even if the precaution proves to be unnecessary. “It is better to be safe than sorry,” is the lighthouse-keeper’s motto; so he runs no risks.