"And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,Through the deep purple of the twilight air,Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light,With strange unearthly splendour in its glare.
"Not one alone: from each projecting cape,And perilous reef, along the ocean's verge,Starts into life a dim gigantic shape,Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge.
"Like the great giant Christopher, it standsUpon the brink of the tempestuous waves,Wading far out upon the rocks and sands,The night-o'ertaken mariner to save.
"And the great ships sail outward, and return,Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells;And ever joyful as they see it burn,They wave their silent welcomes and farewells.
"Steadfast, serene, immovable, the sameYear after year, through all the silent night,Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame—Shines on that inextinguishable light."—Longfellow.
No history of Grace Darling would be complete that did not contain some reference to lighthouses; since it was in one of them that she lived, and in association with it that her thrilling deeds were done. The lighthouse is not a modern invention, though modern science and art have brought it to its present state of perfection. The beacon-fire was known to the ancients, and the fire-towers of the Mediterranean were justly celebrated.
The first regular light seems to have been placed at the entrance to the Hellespont; but of greater notoriety was the large tower on the island of Pharos, off Alexandria, which was so ingeniously constructed that it has been a model for many a modern lighthouse. Some incredible stories are told about this light, which, it is said, could be seen over the sea for a distance of thirty-four miles! Edrisi thus describes it:—"This pharos has not its like in the world for skill of construction and solidity. It is built of excellent stones, of the kind called Kedan, the layers of which are united by molten lead, and the joints are so adherent that the whole is indissoluble, though the waves of the sea from the north incessantly beat against it. This edifice is singularly remarkable, as much on account of its height as of its massiveness: it is of exceeding utility, because its fire burns night and day for the guidance of navigators, and is visible at the distance of a day's sail. During the night, it shines like a star: by day, you may distinguish its smoke."
There was a remarkable pharos built at Ostia by the Emperor Claudius, which was erected on an artificial breakwater. Then there was the light of Puteoli, which, in the far-away days of Rome, was of service to the seamen who were seeking to enter the port. Augustus, who provided the harbour of Ravenna, enriched it with a light. Charybdis and Scylla had also their warning beacon, and Caprera too lifted its light to save ancient vessels from destruction. There was also the Timian Tower, which was erected for navigators, but its design was frustrated by wreckers, who lighted other fires, in order to mislead the seamen, and lure them to ruin and death.
There was a very ancient and remarkable light at Boulogne. It was said to have been first built by the Emperor Caligula, in order to perpetuate the victories he meant to win. It became, however, of great service as a lighthouse-tower, and it is thought that, as early as the year A.D. 191, it flashed a friendly light across the sea. Time, however, and the repeated assaults of foes, robbed it of its strength and glory. The men of Boulogne allowed it to perish, and then thought they were free of all obligation. The case, however, was tried in court, and they were sentenced either to restore it, or pay two thousand herrings, delivered fresh and dry every year. Very early, indeed, there was a light-tower in our own land, on the cliff at Dover, relics of which may even now be seen. It was built by the Romans, of very strong material, tufa, concrete, and red-tile brick. It was probably used as a lighthouse about the time of the Norman conquest, and is now devoted to purposes of government storage. The Colossus of Rhodes is said to have been used as a beacon, but there is no proof that it was so.
Englishmen are notorious for the facility they have of making money, and some enterprising men among our forefathers lighted beacons along the coast, and levied tolls upon those who benefited by their light; and James I. used to sell this privilege to his subjects. In the diary of Lord Grenville, is found this entry—"Mem. To watch the moment when the king is in a good temper to ask of him a lighthouse." This plan, however, was not very effective, and the public grew increasingly dissatisfied with it until, in the reign of William IV., the Corporation of Trinity House was empowered to buy up all lighthouses, take possession of all privileges, and have the entire control of the lighthouse system. There are between three and four hundred members of the Corporation, amongst whom are the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Edinburgh, who has the title of Master, and Mr. W. E. Gladstone. The active committees are composed of retired captains. They have to give certificates to properly-qualified pilots, attend to sea-marks, to the ballast of the Thames ships, and many other things. There are two other Corporations besides that of Trinity House—namely, the Commission of Northern Lights, and the Board of Ballast of Dublin; and all these are under the control of the Board of Trade.
The total number of lights in England is 286, in Scotland 134, and in Ireland 93. So well is our coast lighted that it is said to be impossible to arrive near a dangerous point without seeing a warning lighthouse in some direction. They are of many different kinds and colours, some being placed on towers, some on sand-banks, some in ships out at sea, some on pier-heads, and in harbours. There are five principal lights, the "fixed," the "flashing," the "revolving," the "intermittent," and the "double lights," in one tower.
Two methods of lighting have been employed—the Catoptric and the Dioptric systems. The Catoptric lights are divided into nine classes—the fixed, revolving white, revolving red and white, revolving red with two whites, revolving white with two reds, flashing, intermittent, double-fixed lights, and double-revolving white lights. Colza oil is generally used, though the electric light, by its steady brilliance, is likely to supersede all others, when very great intensity is required.
Care has to be taken in the selection of the spot where the lighthouse shall be built, for in some cases they are rendered useless by the thick fogs that for the greater part of the year obscure their light.
Some mention may here be made of the most remarkable lighthouses on our coast; and only to mention the words, is to suggest EDDYSTONE. No one who has seen these dangerous rocks, could doubt that it is most necessary to have a light fixed to them, for many a noble vessel has been destroyed by running upon the perilous reef. No one, however, had the courage or the enterprise to undertake the task, until an eccentric gentleman of Littleberry, in Essex, generously came forward and offered to do it. The work of Henry Winstanley, and his end, have been so graphically and beautifully described by Jean Ingelow, that we take the liberty to transcribe part of her poem. It tells first how the loss of the "Snowdrop" troubled Winstanley:—
"'For cloth o' gold and comely frieze,'Winstanley said, and sighed,'For velvet coif or costly coat,They fathoms deep may bide.
"'O thou brave skipper, blithe and kind,O mariners bold and true;Sorry of heart, right sorry am I;A-thinking of yours and you.'"
The loss of the "Snowdrop" is followed by that of another ship, with contents, and then—
"'I will take horse,' Winstanley said,'And see this deadly rock,
"'For never again shall barque o' mineSail over the windy sea,Unless, by the blessing of God, for thisBe found a remedy.'"
He went to the Mayor of Plymouth—
"'Lend me a lighter, good Master Mayor,And a score of shipwrights free,For I think to raise a lantern-towerOn this rock o' destiny.'"
"The old Mayor laughed, but sighed also,'Ah, youth,' quoth he, 'is rash;Sooner, young man, thou'lt root it outFrom the sea that doth it lash.'"
Brave Winstanley however, was resolved to try, and after tedious waiting, he commenced to work:—
"Then he and the sea began their strife,And worked with power and might,Whatever the men reared up by day,The sea broke down by night.
"In fine weather, and foul weather,The rock his arts did flout,Through the long days, and the short days,Till all that year ran out.
"With fine weather, and foul weather,Another year came in:'To take his wage,' the workmen said,'We almost count a sin!'"
They kept on, however, and at last, some sailors who returned told a wonderful tale of a house they had seen built in the sea:—
"Then sighed the folk, 'The Lord be praised!'And they flocked to the shore amain;All over the Hoe, the livelong night,Many stood out in the rain.
"It ceased, and the red sun reared his head,And the rolling fog did flee;And lo! in the offing faint and far,Winstanley's house at sea!
"In fair weather, with mirth and cheer,The stately tower uprose;In foul weather, with hunger and cold,They were content to close;
"Till up the stair Winstanley went,To fire the wick afar;And Plymouth, in the silent night,Looked out and saw her star.
"Winstanley set his foot ashore:Said he, 'My work is done;I hold it strong, to last as longAs aught beneath the sun.
"'But if it fail, as fail it may,Borne down with ruin and rout,Another than I shall rear it high,And brace the girders stout.
"'A better than I shall rear it high,For now the way is plain;And though I were dead,' Winstanley said,'The light would shine again.
"'Yet were I fain still to remain,Watch in my tower to keep,And tend my light in the stormiest nightThat ever did move the deep;
"'And if it stood, why, then it were good,Amid their tremulous stirs,To count each stroke, when the mad waves broke,For cheers of mariners.
"'But if it fell, then this were wellThat I should with it fall;Since for my part, I have built my heartIn the courses of its wall.'
"With that Winstanley went his way,And left the rock renowned,And summer and winter his pilot starHung bright o'er Plymouth Sound.
"But it fell out, fell out at last,That he would put to sea,To scan once more his lighthouse-towerOn the rock o' destiny.
"And the winds woke and the storm broke,And wrecks came plunging in;None in the town that night lay down,Or sleep or rest to win.
"The great mad waves were rolling graves,And each flung up its dead;The seething flow was white below,And black the sky o'erhead.
"And when the dawn, the dull grey dawn,Broke on the trembling town,And men looked south to the harbour mouth,The lighthouse tower was down!
"Down in the deep where he doth deepWho made it shine afar,And then in the night that drowned its light,Set, with his pilot star.
"Many fair tombs, in the glorious gloomsAt Westminster, they show;The brave and the great lie there in state,Winstanley lieth low!" [1]
Three years passed by before any other person was found willing to attempt the task of rebuilding the Eddystone lighthouse, and then Captain Lovet got a ninety-nine years lease from Trinity House; and John Rudyard, a silk-mercer of Ludgate-Hill, was engaged as the architect. His design differed very materially from that of Winstanley, and was built of Cornish granite and oak. While it was building England and France were at war with each other, and some of the workmen were carried off as prisoners. The King Louis XIV., however, ordered their immediate release, and giving them substantial presents, sent them back to their good work. This lighthouse was finished in 1709, but, in 1755, it was entirely destroyed, not by winds nor waves, but by fire. Three keepers were there at the time; and when one of them entered to snuff the candles, he found the cupola in flames. They strove to extinguish it, but their efforts were in vain. A fisherman observed the fire, and took the news ashore, when a boat came out to the assistance of the keepers. Nothing could be done, however, to stay the progress of the fire, which destroyed the edifice. One of the keepers immediately fled panic stricken, and was not heard of again, while one met his death in consequence of some melted lead dropping into his open mouth.
The third Eddystone lighthouse still rears its head, as it has done for more than a century. John Smeaton, a clever and practical mathematician, was the man to whose skill as an architect, and courage and perseverance as a man, the world is indebted for the light which still shines upon Eddystone. He was thirty-two years old at the time when this grand work was given him to do; but he had already shown that he possessed inventive genius, pluck, and perseverance, in no ordinary degree. He was quick to see that the two previous structures had not been sufficient in weight and solidity, and he resolved to build that which was committed to his care in such a way that it should be strong enough to resist the force of the winds and waves. He declared that his building should be of stone, and in shape something like the trunk of an oak. In August, 1756, the work was begun, but of course it could not be carried on in the winter. The first stone, weighing two tons and a quarter, was laid on the 12th of the following June; and the next day the first course, consisting of four massive stones, which were dovetailed into the rocks, and formed a compact mass, was completed. The courses followed each other as rapidly as possible, and by the 11th of August the sixth was done, which brought the erection so high as to be out of reach of the ordinary tides. On the 30th of September the ninth course was completed, and then the builders had to leave off work for the winter.
It is easy to conceive of the anxiety which Smeaton suffered during the months which were unusually stormy; but in May, when he and his workmen were again able to reach the rock, they found, to their great joy, that the winter's floods had rather perfected than impaired their work. They gladly commenced operations again, and by September the twenty-fourth course was completed. They had now got as far as the store-room. They worked with a will, and during the next summer the second and third floors were finished. As the building was in progress, Smeaton had inscribed on the walls these words—"Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain who build it." And after it was finished, he had the words, "Laus Deo," engraved upon the top-stone. The erection was finished, and the lantern lighted, on the 16th of October, 1769, and has remained ever since, a monument of the undaunted energy and perseverance of Englishmen.
Another celebrated lighthouse is that of "The Smalls," built on one of the dangerous rocks that lie near the entrance of Milford Haven. It was built by Mr. Phillips, who did it not for gain, but in order to save his fellow-creatures. The architect he employed was a musical instrument maker, named Whiteside. The work was begun in 1772, and persevered with until it was finished. In the beginning of the year 1777, Whiteside and his companions found themselves in great straits, and they wrote a letter and put it inside a barrel, and sent it afloat, hoping it would reach the shore:—
"THE SMALLS,Feb. 1, 1777.
"SIR—Being now in a most dangerous and distressed condition upon the Smalls, I do hereby trust Providence will bring to your hand this, which prayeth for your immediate assistance to fetch us off before next spring, or we fear we shall perish—our water all gone, and our fire quite gone, and our house in a most melancholy manner. I doubt not but you will fetch us from here as fast as possible: we can be got off at some part of the tide almost any weather. I need say no more, but remain your distressed humble servant."H. WHITESIDE."
"We were distressed in a gale of wind upon the 13th of January, since which have not been able to keep any light, but we could not have kept any light above sixteen nights longer for want of oil and candles, which makes us murmur, and think we are forgotten."EDWARD EDWARDS."G. ADAMS."J. PRICE.
"P.S.—We doubt not, whoever takes up this, will be so merciful as to cause it to be sent to Thomas Williams, Esq., Trelethin, near St. David's, Wales."
At one time, during a very stormy winter, the Smalls lighthouse-keepers were cut off from communication with the mainland for four months. Vessels had tried to reach them, but had been driven back by the violence of the weather. Once, however, when a ship had gone near enough to get a sight of the Smalls, it was reported that a man was seen standing in the upper gallery, and that a flag of distress was flying near him. When at last a fisherman succeeded in reaching the rock, he found that one of the keepers was dead, and the other had securely fixed the corpse in an upright position in the gallery, that the body might be preserved, and he himself not injured by contact with it. This, and a similar event that happened on the Eddystone, caused better arrangements to be made; and in future, more than two men were placed in lighthouses likely to be exposed to circumstances of equal danger.
Another marvellous lighthouse is that erected by Robert Stevenson on the Bell Rock. The most ancient light which Scotland can boast is that of the Isle of May. The tower is very old and weather-beaten, and bears date 1635. At Grass Island, and also at North Ronaldshay, lights were kindled in 1789. In 1794, Robert Stevenson saw the Skerries lighthouse completed. He also put lights on Start Point; and for the better lighting of the dangerous shore, changed the North Ronaldshay lighthouse into a beacon.
But round about the light on the Bell Rock more romance centres. This rock is a very perilous one, lying eleven miles off the coast of Forfarshire, and, if tradition may be trusted, the first attempt to rob it of some of its awful power was made by an ancient abbot, who hung a bell over it, so that the winds and waves should cause it to ring, and thus warn mariners who were in danger.
Southey's ballad of Sir Ralph the Rover tells the story of how the good abbot's design was frustrated, and how the perpetrator of a foul deed was punished:—
"The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen,A darker speck on the ocean green:Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck,And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.
"He felt the cheering power of spring,It made him whistle, it made him sing;His heart was mirthful to excess,But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.
"His eye was on the Inchcape float.Quoth he, 'My men, put out the boat,And row me to the Inchcape Rock,And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.'
"The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,And to the Inchcape Rock they go;Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.
"Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound,The bubbles rose and burst around.Quoth Sir Ralph, 'The next who comes to the rockWon't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.'
"Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away,He scoured the seas for many a day;And now grown rich with plundered store,He steers his course for Scotland's shore.
"So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,They cannot see the sun on high;And the wind hath blown a gale all day—At evening it hath died away.
"On the deck the Rover takes his stand;So dark it is they see no land.Quoth Sir Ralph, 'It will be lighter soon,For there is the dawn of the rising moon.'
"'Canst hear,' said one, 'the breakers roar?For methinks we should be near the shore.''Now, where we are I cannot tell,But I wish I could hear the Inchcape bell!'
"They hear no sound, the swell is strong;Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock—'O Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!'
"Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,He curst himself in his despair;The waves rush in on every side,The ship is sinking beneath the tide.
"But even in his dying fearOne dreadful sound could the Rover hear—A sound as if with the Inchcape bellThe devil below was ringing his knell."
Many after attempts were made to put beacons upon the Inchcape, but all were destroyed by the stormy waves, one after the other, until Robert Stevenson undertook to build a structure that should be strong enough to stand. He began on August 7, 1807, and the first thing he did, was to provide a workshop and sleeping places for the men who were to be engaged in the enterprise. It took all the summer to do this; for often, when the men were at work, there would come a big wave over the rock, and put out the fire. The smith who worked at the bellows often stood knee-deep in water, which sometimes covered the rock to the depth of twelve feet. Once, when a cargo of stores had been landed, and thirty-two men were at work, the vessel which had conveyed them, and was to take them back, and which was named the "Smeaton," broke away from the moorings and got adrift. Mr. Smeaton was almost the first to notice this, and he became very anxious as he remembered the number of men on the rock, and that they had only two boats, which were capable of carrying but eight men each. The men were at first so busy, that they did not realise the danger of their position, but presently it was found that, in consequence of the gale, the tide was coming in more rapidly than usual, and the men, after having worked three hours, left off and went to look for the boats. It was found that one of them had drifted away with the "Smeaton." The men looked at one another in silence. It seemed certain that all could not escape, and there was an awful time of suspense and despair. Stevenson felt it so keenly that when he tried to speak he found his mouth so parched that it was impossible. He stooped to moisten his lips by drinking some of the sea-water which the tide had left in holes in the rocks, and then he heard the welcome cry, "A boat! a boat!" Presently a pilot-boat came and rescued them from their perilous situation, and the lives of the brave engineer and his men were saved. For the reward of rendering this service, the pilot received a pension when too old to work.
A tremendous gale overtook the company on one occasion, which lasted ten days, and prevented them from reaching the rock. On the 6th September, a very heavy sea struck the ship, which flooded the deck and poured into the cabins below. It was thought the vessel had foundered, and that all on board would go down with her. They were in perfect darkness, and some of the men engaged in praying, some repeating hymns, and others declared that if they could only get on shore, they would never come on the water again. Stevenson made his way on deck and looked around. The billows seemed to be ten or fifteen feet high, and each appeared as if about to overwhelm the ship. One man, a black, lashed himself to the foremast, and kept watch in case the ship should break loose from her moorings. The next morning the sun rose and the gale abated, but the sea was still very rough, and at the Bell Rock the spray was thrown up to a height of forty or fifty feet. When, at last, the waters had grown calm, and Stevenson was able again to visit the rock, he found that the force of the sea had removed six immense blocks of granite twelve or fifteen paces off; and in the smith's forge the ash-pan, though it had a heavy cast-iron back, had been washed away, and was found on the opposite side of the rock. Stevenson thought there was no time to lose, so he and the men worked away at the building, which was to be a home for the workmen, and a temporary beacon. They finished the erection in about one hundred and three hours; and thinking of their heroic, courageous and persevering conduct, one is reminded of the building of Nehemiah's wall, which was even less difficult and dangerous than this work on the Bell Rock:—"So built we the wall; and all the wall was joined together unto the half thereof;for the people had a mind to work."
On the 6th day of October, the Bell Rock lighthouse builders relinquished work for that year, having done little more than erect the temporary workshops and beacon. They were still engaged, however, in preparing materials for the lighthouse; and the stones were laid down as they would be in the building. They were then carefully marked and numbered, and made all ready to be used as soon as possible. In the summer of the next year the undaunted men were on the rock again. On the 10th of July the foundation-stone was laid; on which Mr. Stevenson pronounced these words: "May the great Architect of the universe complete and bless this building!" The men then gave three cheers, and drank to the success of the lighthouse.
They worked on that year till the 21st September; and began again—the next on the 27th of May. On the 8th of July, they found to their great joy that the tide, even at high water, did not overflow the building; and so glad were they that they hoisted flags everywhere and fired a salute of three guns. By the 25th of August, it was thirty-one and a half feet above the rock. Mr. Stevenson was so anxious about his work that he paid two or three visits to the rock during the next winter. He found, however, that it was uninjured by the storms, and began to have a hope that during the coming season it would be completed. Nor were his hopes vain.
The men began work again on the 10th of May. In July they had a visit from Mrs. Dickson, the only daughter of Smeaton. On the 29th the last stone was landed upon the rock, and on the 30th the last course was laid. There had been ninety courses in all. As soon as the work was finished Stevenson reverently and thankfully offered this benediction—"May the great Architect of the universe, under whose blessing this perilous work has prospered, preserve it as a guide to the mariners."
On the 17th December in the same year, this advertisement recorded the fact of the lighthouse being finished:—"A lighthouse having been erected upon the Inchcape, or Bell Rock, situated at the Firths of Forth and Tay, in north latitude 56 degrees 29 minutes, and west longitude 2 degrees 22 minutes, the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses hereby give notice, that the light will be from oil, with reflectors, placed at the height of about one hundred and eight feet above the medium level of the sea. The light will be exhibited on the night of Friday, the first day of February 1811, and each night thereafter, from the going away of daylight in the evening until the return of daylight in the morning. To distinguish this light from others on the coast, it is made to revolve horizontally, and to exhibit a bright light of the natural appearance, and a red-coloured light alternately, both respectively attaining their greatest strength, or most luminous effect, in the space of every four minutes; during that period the bright light will, to a distant observer, appear like a star of the first magnitude, which after attaining its full strength is gradually eclipsed to total darkness, and is succeeded by the red-coloured light, which in like manner increases to full strength, and again diminishes and disappears. The coloured light, however, being less powerful, may not be seen for a time after the bright light is first observed. During the continuance of foggy weather, and showers of snow, a bell will be tolled by machinery, night and day, at intervals of half a minute."
The western coast of Scotland has its wonderful light as well as the eastern. On the Skerryvore Rock is a lighthouse erected by Alan Stevenson, raised amid much difficulty, but which was as urgently needed as any around the coast. The Skerryvore Rock, although not altogether submerged, stretches over a distance so considerable that wrecks upon it were as common as they were awful. In the year 1814, the Commissioners of Northern Lights visited the reef, accompanied by Sir Walter Scott, who declared that it was not equalled for loneliness and desolation, even by the Eddystone or Bell Rock. It was resolved to build a lighthouse, but the resolution was not carried into effect until 1834.
Mr. Alan Stevenson, to whom the honourable but difficult work was entrusted, began by building places to shelter the men; but these buildings were swept away by a storm in the winter of the same year. In the following early summer, the undaunted workers began again, and completed an erection of three storeys by September. It was forty feet above the rock; and here Mr. Stevenson and his men waited for the weather, or rested from their labours. The whole of the working season of 1849 was spent in excavating the foundation, to do which required two hundred and ninety-six charges of gunpowder. Mr. Stevenson has written an account of the Skerryvore Lighthouse, and he says that, during the first month which he and his men spent in their curious home, they suffered considerably from inundations. Once, for a fortnight, they were unable to hold communication with the mainland, and they saw "nothing but white plains of foam as far as the eye could reach." One night he was aroused by the breaking of a tremendous wave over the barrack, and all the men on the floor below uttered a terrible cry, and sprang from their beds. They believed that they were in the sea; and their thankfulness at finding it was not so, may be better imagined than described.
The foundation-stone of the Skerryvore Lighthouse was laid by the Duke of Argyle. The men who worked at it had need to be enthusiastic, for they rose at half-past three in the morning, and frequently continued toiling for thirteen or fourteen hours a day. This so wearied them, that they did not know how to keep awake; and Mr. Stevenson says they frequently went off in a profound slumber while standing or eating their meals. This solid building was finished in 1844, and its light is visible at the distance of eighteen miles.
There is a curious circumstance connected with the Sunderland Lighthouse. It formerly stood on the old pier, but when a new jetty was built, and a light added, the old one became unnecessary, and it was decided to demolish it. Mr. Murray, however, an engineer, thought it might be moved bodily, as it stood, to the place where the new lighthouse was to be erected. The distance was about four hundred and seventy-five feet, the weight of the lighthouse seven hundred and fifty-seven thousand pounds. It possesses an octagonal tower, sixty-four feet high, and fifteen feet in diameter at the base. Some openings were made at the bottom of the tower, and strong planks of oak were introduced, then the lowest part of the building was destroyed, so that the tower rested on the platform of timber planks, which itself rested on a number of cast-iron wheels made like those of a railway train, and sleepers were laid down in front and over these. The building passed a few feet at a time, while strong men drew the iron chains, which were wound upon windlasses. The work was accomplished in thirteen hours and twenty-four minutes; and that evening the lamp was lighted as usual.
Visitors to the Isle of Wight will have seen two remarkable lighthouses on its coast. That on one of the sharp rocks, called the Needles, has a light so brilliant as to be seen at sea from a distance of fourteen miles. It has a fog-bell, which rings in very stormy weather, and may be heard five miles off. There is another valuable lighthouse at St. Catherine's Point, which is an ornament to the beautiful neighbourhood. Its height is one hundred feet. In the midst of the interesting scenery of Cape Cornwall, the visitor, gazing out to sea, will observe the Longships Lighthouse. It is needed, for the rocks are most dangerous—the Armed Knight and Irish Lady being fantastic names for huge masses that would send many a splendid ship to destruction.
Then there is the Wolfs Crag Lighthouse; and the Lizard Point Lighthouse, which, with the wonderfully-marked rocks, will delight those who are seeking instruction and entertainment at the same time as they find change and rest. The North and South Forelands have lighthouses, and Holyhead throws its radiance over the waters that lave the feet of the Welsh mountains.
Altogether the Englishman has reason to be thankful that his island home, so girt about with dangerous sands and rocks, is yet so guarded by its friendly lights that the mariner, going or returning, may be warned of the hindrances to progress, and the "terror by night," which lie hidden under the pitiless, deceitful waters.
No one can consider the subject of lighthouses without thinking also of lighthouse-homes and those who inhabit them. It is a remarkable fact that there is no position so dreary or dangerous, but some one can be found to fill it. And so brave are certain individuals amongst us, that it may almost be said they covet situations where courage, endurance, and self-denial, are essential. It is necessary, indeed, that lighthouse keepers should be in many respects superior men; and he who thinks that "any one will do to light a lamp," is mistaken. Men who occupy such a high position must be well tested, faithful men. Do they not hold in their hands the lives of emigrants seeking foreign shores for work—good successful traders, bringing home their savings to make widowed mothers, or aged and infirm fathers happy—sailor lads, for whose return fair English maidens pray with love's longing, and little children, who are to grow up into statesmen, philanthropists, and deliverers? Would it do for light-house-keepers to be men who trembled at the storm, and turned pale when their tower shook, and forgot to light the lamp, when the lightning's forked tongue was darting hither and thither? May a light-house-keeper put his own life and health first, and his duty next? Must he allow anxiety for a sick child, or sorrow for a dying wife, to withdraw him for one evening from his work? No. All that is required of a faithful soldier is required, in even a greater degree, in the keeper of a lighthouse. He has therefore to receive a course of instruction, and to be subjected to strict discipline. He has to pass a medical examination, and produce unexceptionable testimonials with regard to his moral character. In a word, he must be in all respects a most trustworthy man, or he will not do for a lighthouse-keeper.
The first and chief rule for the guidance of the man to whom is allotted the post of honour and danger is this—"You are to light the lamps every evening at sunsetting, and keep them constantly burning bright and clear till sunrising." Nothing—no personal matter of sickness or sorrow, must prevent his doing this. While life is in him, and his senses continue, this injunction is to be ringing in his memory, and guiding his actions. There is plenty of other work to do besides. Every part of the building is to be kept clean, and the lightroom apparatus scrupulously so. The glass is to be washed, rubbed with a soft dry leather, and kept perfectly free from dust and all impurities.
But the chief thing after all is to light the lamp, and watch to see that it does not burn dimly, or go out. In the long nights of winter the watcher is relieved after a number of hours, but he must not leave the room on any pretence until his comrade comes to take his place. He must not sleep, nor even take his ease; his attention is to be fixed on the light alone. The night experiences of such men must sometimes be startling, and even awful. What strange noises they must occasionally hear, when the winds and waves are fighting out their battles! What fearful cries as, notwithstanding the friendly light, a vessel strikes upon the rocks, and the people are tossed into the surging waters. They have visitors too; often in the night the wild sea-birds, fascinated by the light, as the moth is by the candle, come dashing against the lantern with such violence as to break the glass. But whatever happens, close to the tower, or away over the stormy waters, the man knows his duty, and does it, by keeping the light burning brightly until the sunrising.
Life in the lighthouse must needs be very monotonous, when the house is built upon some rock, far out at sea. Then, for some weeks of the worst weather, it is not possible for the keepers to receive visitors or supplies; it is necessary therefore that an abundance of the necessaries of life should be stowed away in the building.
The men too are provided with libraries; so that if they see few faces of their fellows, they can at least hold communion with books; and it was a happy thought to send all those who live in isolated positions such companions. But these are not the only ones. Two, three, or four men, are stationed at such places as the Eddystone, so that each may take his turn in spending some time with his family on shore. Those lighthouses which are situated on the mainland are comfortable homes, with their little plot of ground to cultivate, and visitors, at least in the summer season, to talk with. It is in the winter, and when the house is inaccessible, that the men's powers of endurance are tried.
It will never happen again, as it did before the whole system had reached its present state of perfection, that one man should be left on a solitary rock, with the corpse of his comrade, while the seething waters prevented any one from coming to his assistance. But even now the life is sufficiently trying. Human nature is apt to be awkward, and it is desirable that the light-keepers should be good tempered, friendly men, who will not soon tire of each other, nor quarrel over misunderstandings and differences of opinion. It must be a happy thing for a man who is a lighthouse watcher, to be God-fearing and Christian, and have a wife and children about him. Such a lighthouse as the one in which he lives may be a Bethel, even though it be in a measure cut off from all other human habitations. And those who dwell in it may well feel that they have the especial care and sympathy of the Lord Jesus, who loved the sea, and frequented it during his stay in this world. How often must they long to hear His voice coming across the turmoil of the angry waters, and saying, "It is I, be not afraid." And how good it must be when the shadows fall, and the night with its mystery and dangers broods over the waves, for the man to give himself and his dear ones into the powerful keeping of the Prince of Peace. From such homes may well come strong brave men, and virtuous women, who shall always be on the side of right against might—goodness against evil. Such a home, we may well believe, was that of James Darling, the father of the heroic maiden of the Farne Isles.[2]
[1] "Poems by Jean Ingelow." Longmans & Co., London.
[2] The writer is indebted for much of the information contained in this chapter to a deeply interesting and excellent volume by Mr. W. H. Davenport Adams, entitled, "Lighthouses and Lightships," published by T. Nelson and Sons, London and Edinburgh.
"So low did her secure foundations lie;She was not humble, but humility.Scarcely she knew that she was great, or fair,Or wise, beyond what other women areOr (which is better) knew, but never durst compare.For to be conscious of what all admireAnd not be vain, advances virtue higher.But still she found, or rather thought she found,Her own worth wanting, others to abound;Ascribed above their due to every one,Unjust and scanty to herself alone."—Dryden.
The loneliness of the Farne Islands must have been rather depressing to the young people who dwelt upon them, and when a chance wind brought to the Longstone Rock any guest to be entertained, and treated with true British hospitality, the inhabitants of the lighthouse must have been particularly thankful. Birds and fishes, winds and waves, are very well in their places, but social hearts long for something else than these, and cannot be satisfied without communion with their kind. Grace Darling's sympathy was with human life; and no one can read of her without feeling that, if she could not shine in society, she could at least be very womanly and kind with strangers, and sufficiently entertaining to those who visited the happy, homely dwelling among the rocks. She would take delight in ministering to their needs, and removing their sorrows; and we are sure that no one was shipwrecked on the island, or visited it from curiosity or for instruction, without taking away with them pleasant recollections of the gentle girl.
Lonely as the island was, and quiet as the lives of the inmates of the lighthouse must have been, they were not altogether uneventful, and they certainly were not idle. The brothers of a family always make much work, and sometimes not a little care for their sisters. A good girl cannot but be very loving toward them, and most anxious for their welfare. If the boys are away from home, the solicitude of the sister is increased; and many an earnest prayer does she send up to God during the day, and sometimes during the night, that He would bless the lads. The tender, pitiful soul of a girl clings to her brother; and sometimes, if the boys only knew how much they are beloved, they would perhaps live and act very differently. They may rest assured that no one, unless it be their mother, feels as thankful for their joy, and as grieved for their sorrow, as proud of their virtue, and as sad for their sins, as the sisters who played with them, and who always feel as if God meant them to be, in some measure, their brothers' keepers.
Grace Darling's brothers were away from the island, but they were not forgotten by Grace. Often, with a happy smile on her lips, and a loving light in her eyes, she sat and worked for them, preparing some warm garment, or pretty little gift, that should tell the boys a pleasant, though oft-repeated tale, of their sister's love.
But the best time for Grace was when the twin-brothers came home for a holiday. She kept it with them, and always took care that they should have such particularly good times that they would delight to talk of them when they were over. Every one who knows anything of boys and their ways, knows how proud and flattered they are by the attentions of a girl who is older than themselves. And Grace was charming, for she laid herself out for her brothers' pleasure. Long before they came home, she invented little surprises, in the shape of puzzles, pictures, and games. She knew that the most uncomfortable experience a boy can have is to be left alone with nothing to do, and she took care that nothing of this kind should spoil the holidays of the brothers. She joined in all their play. She ran races with them—jumped with them—sailed with them; and if they had not been too manly to cry, when the parting time came, she would have cried with them most heartily. They were golden days indeed for Grace when her brothers came home.
Nor was she scarcely less pleased when others, and strangers, paid a visit to her home.
One day in September, 1832, Grace and her mother were watching the sky and sea most anxiously. Mr. Darling had gone to North Sunderland, having sailed thither in his trusty coble. They were now expecting his return, and every five minutes seemed an hour while they waited. He was not coming alone, for his eldest son was to accompany him. The latter was at this time residing at Alnwick, but was always glad of an opportunity to go home. The two who watched for them prayed as they watched.
"I hope they will not be long, Grace. Is it not time they had arrived?" asked Mrs. Darling.
"Scarcely yet, mother," replied Grace. "Do not be anxious, so many things may have delayed them."
"But I feel sure that a storm is coming. Look at the waves out at sea—how white they are; and every hour they are becoming more so."
"But I think they will be here before the storm comes."
"I hope they may. If not, I fear that they will not be able to come at all to-night."
"There is time yet."
"But the sun is setting, Grace; already the twilight is here."
"Let us trust, mother. I think all will be well with them."
They stood looking towards the sea, and presently Grace saw that which they were looking for.
"Here they come, mother; and there are two in the boat!"
"Where, Grace? Are you sure it is they?"
"Quite! Cannot you see them?"
"Oh yes, thank God; and they are coming very quickly. They will soon be here."
"Let us go down to the beach to meet them."
Grace went joyfully down; and as their boat came ashore, she received them with thanksgiving.
"All well, Grace?"
"Yes, father. Mother has been very anxious, lest you should not be able to get here before the storm came."
"It is coming, surely. It will be a very rough night, a night to be at home rather than on the sea. Let us get indoors as soon as possible."
They had not been long within the shelter of their home before the storm burst in all its fury, and it was a storm that even they did not often witness. The wind, which at first had sighed as if in sorrow, and wailed as if for woe, now roared in wild anger, rushing hither and thither in a mad endeavour to shake and destroy all that came in its way. Rain pelted down upon the lighthouse, and hail beat against the windows, while the waves, lashed to fury by the tempestuous winds, leaped so high that they beat with violence against the lighthouse itself. All were glad and thankful to be within doors at such a time, and talked compassionately of the poor fellows who were exposed to the pitiless rigour of the elements.
Grace sat at the window watching, when presently all were startled by an exclamation of alarm which she involuntarily uttered.
"What is it, Grace!" cried her father, rising hastily, and going to her side. "See, father!" said she in answer.
The sight that met Darling's eyes was sad enough. A little yacht, quite too small to brave such weather, was seen tossing about on the angry waters. One moment it seemed to rise on the top of a wave-mountain, the next it was engulphed in the watery abyss, but all the time the wind was driving it toward the rocks.
"William, look here," said Darling to his son.
William drew a long breath.
"She is coming with all speed to the rocks," he said.
"Yes, there is not a moment to lose. Come, my son."
The young man needed no second bidding: if he had done, Grace would have added her earnest words. But she knew her father and brothers, and hastened to get their hats and jackets, and prepare them for the battle with the winds and waves.
"Is there anything more that I can do for you, father?"
"Yes, take care of your mother, and do not let her give way."
Mrs. Darling clung to her husband until he gently put her into the hands of her daughter. It is one of the trials of the wife of a lighthouse keeper, that she must often see her husband go forth to dangers which may lead him into death; and Mrs. Darling could not bear this trouble with any degree of composure. It is a singular thing that those who live by the sea are often most alarmed at its power. Mrs. Darling knew what it did with helpless men; and when her husband went out in the storm, though he had gone on an errand of mercy, she was often so anxious about him as to be quite overpowered; and while he was fighting with the elements she would remain at home in a state of insensibility, from which she was with difficulty aroused.
At such times, it is generally the case that
"Men must work, and women must weep."
And it is the women who have the worst of it. It is not so difficult for heroic men to rush into danger for the salvation of human life, as it is for loving women to sit calmly at home while the lives that are dearest to them are in jeopardy. Mrs. Browning understood this when she wrote her poem, "Parting Lovers," when Italy needed brave men to die for her:—
"Heroic males the country bears,But daughters give up more than sons;Flags wave, drums beat, and unawaresYou flash your souls out with the guns,And take your heaven at once.
"But we? We empty heart and homeOf life's life—love! We bear to thinkYou're gone—to feel you may not come—To hear the door-latch stir and clink,Yet no more you!—nor sink."