The stormy nights are passed much in the same way.  The men who are not looking out sit smoking and gossiping; the foam piles itself softly to the weather side of the house, and the spray falls with a keen lashing sound on the stones outside.  Towards the end of the pier there is nothing to be seen but a vague trouble, as though a battle were going on in the dark, and to the north the Tynemouth light throws a long shaft of brightness through the mist.  Presently a light is seen away southward or out to the east, and all the men are on the alert directly.  If a ship from the south can only weather the end of the pier and escape the wash from the north, she soon gets into the fairway, but it is not easily done in stormy weather.  The light makes long lunges and describes great arcs on the background of the darkness; then the brigadesmen know that the ship is in the stream that pours up the gulf made by the piers.  If she keeps her red light open till she is nearly abreast of the House, there is only one more danger for her.  She may strike on the Black Middens (a heap of snaggy rocks lying under Tynemouth), and in that case the south-side men have nothing to do with her.  But sometimes the vessel shows all her lights and rushes upon the South Pier.  Then the men wait for the last lurch and that wallowing crash that they know so well.  The rocket is laid, and flies out over the rigging; the brigadesmen haul on their rope, and the basket comes rocking ashore along the line.  It is not child’s play to stand in the open and work the rocket apparatus; sometimes a whole row of men are struck by a single sea, and have to hang on wherever they can.  Sometimes a careless man is carried along the pier like a cork, and sometimes one is washed clean over the side.  A lucky young gentleman was taken into the sea one winter and buffeted smartly until a chance wave landed him again.  The buffeting and drenching are taken as part of the day’s work, and the young fellows joke about it just as soldiers will joke under fire.  There is much curiosity as the basket is hauled in.  On one occasion a cat and her kittens were the first rescued of a ship’s company, and on another occasion a dog came ashore looking much surprised at his position.  At various times all sorts and conditions of men have to slide along that friendly rope.  Stolid Dutchmen, gesticulating Italians, cool north-country sailors are landed, and all are treated alike.  A solemn man with a rum-bottle awaits them as they pass into the friendly light of the House:  like some officiating priest he gravely pours out a glassful and silently hands it to the rescued seafarer; then the berth and the hot-water bottle are made ready, and the fortunate sailor is warmly wrapped up.