BOOK III.LIGHTHOUSES OF GREAT BRITAIN.CHAPTER I.THE STORY OF THE EDDYSTONE: A.D. 1696, 1706, 1759.TThefirst lighthouse of a regular character erected on the shores of England seems to have been that of Lowestoft, in 1609. Among its successors we may refer to those of Hunstanton Point, 1665, and of the Scilly Islands, 1680. To the same epoch belong the lighthouses of Dungeness, Orfordness, and the Eddystone; the latter being the most important, the most remarkable, and the most interesting, as, I think, the following brief narrative will not fail to show.TheEddystoneis the name of the highest summit of a reef of rocks which lie in deep water about fourteen miles to the south-west of Plymouth harbour. As they are in a line with Lizard Head, in Cornwall, and Start Point, inDevonshire, they are not only in the track of vessels bound for the great Devonian seaport, but of vessels coasting up and down the English Channel. At high water they are barely visible, and their position could only be told by the waves whicheddyand seethe above them; at low water several low, broken, and dismal-looking ridges of gneiss become conspicuous. When the wind blows from the south-west, they are the centre of “a hell of waters,” and no ship involved in the vortex could hope to escape destruction.It may readily be conceived that so perilous a reef, when unprotected by any beacon, was a source of deep alarm to the mariner, who, to give it the widest possible berth, was accustomed to enter the Channel in a much more southerly latitude than is now done. But in avoiding Scylla he often fell into Charybdis, and hence the numerous wrecks which occurred on the French coast, and more particularly upon the dangerous rocks surrounding the islands of Jersey, Guernsey, and Alderney.The erection of a lighthouse upon the Eddystone was, therefore, a matter of national concern; yet no one could be found to undertake a task whose accomplishment nature seemed to have rendered impossible, until Henry Winstanley, a country gentleman of Littleberry, in Essex, chivalrously came forward in the year 1696, and having obtained the necessary legal powers, proceeded to carry his design into execution. This same Winstanley was one of those eccentric geniuses who find a pleasure in mystifying their friends, and in investing their daily life with an air of legerdemain. He adapted science to practical jokes with an ingenuity which, we think, has neverbeen surpassed. If a guest in his bedroom kicked an old slipper out of his way, immediately a ghost started from the floor. If, in another, he threw himself into a chair, it suddenly flung out its two arms, and held him fast as a prisoner. Or if in the garden he retired into an arbour, and rested on a particular seat, he was straightway set afloat in the middle of the adjoining canal.To the native eccentricity of the man, it has been justly remarked, may be ascribed the fantastical character of the first Eddystone Lighthouse. Its erection was begun in 1696. The first summer—and it was only in summer the work could be carried on—was occupied in making twelve holes in the rock, and fastening as many irons in them, to serve as the superstructure.[25]The task progressed but slowly, for, as Winstanley himself relates, though it was summer, the weather would at times prove of such terrible violence, that for ten or fourteen days together the sea would so rage about the rocks—agitated by out-winds and the inrush of the ground-swell from the main ocean—as to mount and leap upwards some two hundred feet, completely burying the works, and preventing all approach to them.The second summer was spent in constructing a solid round pillar twelve feet high and fourteen feet in diameter. In the third year the pillar was enlarged two feet at the base, and the edifice carried up to a height of sixty feet. “Being all finished,” says the engineer,“with the lantern, and all the rooms that were in it, we ventured to lodge there soon after midsummer, for the greater dispatch of the work. But the first night the weather came bad, and so continued, that it was eleven days before any boats could come near us again; and not being acquainted with the height of the sea’s rising, we were almost drowned with wet, and our provisions in as bad a condition, though we worked night and day as much as possible to make shelter for ourselves. In this storm we lost some of our materials, although we did what we could to save them; but the boat then returning, we all left the house to be refreshed on shore: and as soon as the weather did permit we returned and finished all, and put up the light on the 14th November 1698; which being so late in the year, it was three days before Christmas before we had relief to go on shore again, and were almost at the last extremity for want of provisions; but, by good Providence, then two boats came with provisions and the family that was to take care of the light; and so ended this year’s work.”WINSTANLEY’S LIGHTHOUSE AT THE EDDYSTONE.The fourth year was devoted to strengthening the foundations and enlarging the structure, which, when completed, resembled nothing so much as “a Chinese pagoda, with open galleries and fantastic projections.” The gallery around the lantern was so wide and open, that it was possible, when the sea ran high, for a six-oared boat to be lifted by the waves and driven through it. Such an edifice could not long resist the fury of the waters or the violence of the gale; but, at least, it served to prove that a lighthousecouldbe erected on the rock, and its achievement was one of the most laudable enterprises which any heroic mind could undertake, for it filled the breast of the mariner with new hope.Winstanley was proud of his work, and so convinced,it is said, of its entire solidity, that he expressed a wish to be beneath its roof in the greatest storm that ever blew under the face of heaven, convinced that it could not shake one joist or beam. He had his presumptuous wish fulfilled. With his workmen and keepers he had taken up his abode in the lighthouse, when a terrible gale blew up, and on the 26th of November attained to an unparalleled excess of fury. In truth, it was of so frightful a character that contemporary annals vividly record its destructive effects, and the alarm it produced.All through that memorable night the tempest raged. As soon as morning came the people of Plymouth hastened to the beach, and turned their gaze instinctively towards the Eddystone. But no structure crowned the rock, over which the waves were tossing and swirling all unchecked. The lighthouse was swept away, and no vestiges remained of its adventurous occupants.The question now arose, Who was to rebuild the lighthouse? Three years passed before it was answered; and then the task was taken up by one Captain Lovet, who obtained a ninety-nine years’ lease from the Trinity Corporation, and immediately engaged as his architect asilk-merceron Ludgate Hill, named John Rudyerd. What reasons guided Lovet in his curious choice we cannot ascertain; probably Rudyerd had given some signal proofs of mechanical ingenuity; but, at all events, the choice proved a felicitous one. Rudyerd submitted for the new building an elegant and admirable design; instead of a polygon, he chose a circle for the outline, and instead of the projections and ornaments with which Winstanley hadarrested every breeze that blew, he studied the utmost simplicity, so as to offer wind or wave the slightest possible resistance.He secured the foundation with the utmost care. He divided the irregular surface of the rock into seven rather unequal stages, and cut thirty-six holes in these, to the depth of from twenty to thirty inches. These holes were six inches square at the top, gradually narrowing to five inches, and then again expanding and flattening to nine inches by three at the bottom. Into these dove-tailed holes strong iron bolts or branches were keyed; each bolt being fitted exactly in size to the hole it was intended to fill, and weighing from two to five hundredweight, according to its length and structure.The bolts made fast, Rudyerd proceeded to fix a course of squared oak timbers lengthwise upon the lowest step, so as to reach the level of the step above. Another set of timbers were then laid crosswise, so as to cover those already laid, and to raise the level surface to the height of the third stage. The third structure was again laid lengthwise, the fourth crosswise, and so on, alternately, until a basement of solid wood was secured, two courses higher than the highest point of the rock; all being fitted together and to the rock, by means of the bolts, as firmly as possible, and all, in their intersections with one another, being closely trenailed.The bolts originally let into the solid rock were perforated in their upper parts—some with three, and some with four holes; so that in every pair, collectively called abranch, there would be about seven holes. As the branches numbered thirty-six, there would be 252 holes,each about seven-eighths of an inch in diameter, and consequently as many large “bearded spikes” or “jag-bolts,” which, being driven through the branches into the solid timber, held the mass firmly down.Rudyerd’s lighthouse is generally described as a timber edifice. This is not correct. Knowing that weight is best resisted and counteracted by weight, and to insure a sufficient amount of resistance, he combined with his courses of timber solid courses of Cornish granite, in this manner: the foundation was of oak for two courses; then came five courses of stone, each a foot in thickness, kept together by iron cramps; and then two courses more of timber. Thus was completed the basement.The remainder of the edifice, which rose to an elevation of 69 feet, on a base of 23 feet, was built of timber. The interior consisted of four rooms, one above the other; and above the topmost was the lantern—an octagon of 10 feet 6 inches in diameter, crowned by a ball of 2 feet 3 inches in diameter. The whole height of the lighthouse, from the lowest side of the rock to the top of the ball, was 92 feet. It was completely finished in 1709.In connection with this ingenious structure an anecdote is always related, illustrative of the kindly feeling which Louis XIV. occasionally exhibited. There was war at the time between England and France, and a French privateer seized the opportunity of carrying off the workmen employed in building the lighthouse as prisoners. As soon as their capture was made known to the king, he ordered their immediate release, and that they should be sent back to their work, with some presents to compensatefor their detention. “Though at war with England,” said the king, “I am not at war with mankind.” The Eddystone lighthouse is so situated as to be of equal service to all nations having occasion to navigate the Channel that separates France from England.Yet another anecdote: Some visitors to the lighthouse, after inspecting its internal arrangements, observed to one of the keepers that he thought it quite possible to live very comfortably in its quiet seclusion. “That might be,” said the man, “if we had but the use of our tongues; but it is now fully a month since my partner and I have spoken to each other.”Rudyerd’s lighthouse continued to brave “the elemental fury,” and warn the seamen from the fatal rocks, until the 2nd of December 1755, when it fell before a most unexpected enemy. Through some unknown cause the building caught fire. Three keepers at the time were within the lighthouse; and when one of them, whose turn it was to watch, entered the lantern, at about two o’clock in the morning, to snuff the candles, he discovered it to be filled with smoke,[26]and on his opening the door which led to the balcony, a flame instantly burst from the inside of the cupola. He hastened to alarm his companions, and they used every exertion to extinguish the fire; but, owing to the difficulty of raising a sufficient supply of water to the top of the building, and the dryness of the internal timber, they soon found their effortsvain, and as the fire increased in force, were compelled to retreat downwards from stage to stage.Early in the morning the fire was descried by some fishermen, who carried the news ashore, and a well-manned boat was immediately dispatched to the relief of the poor keepers.It reached the Eddystone at ten o’clock, when the fire had been burning eight hours. The light-keepers had been driven from the building to avoid the falling beams, and molten lead and red-hot iron; and were found, stupefied with terror, in a cave on the east side of the rock. With difficulty they were removed into the boat, and carried ashore. No sooner were they landed than one of them, strange to say, immediately made off, and was never afterwards heard of. So singular a circumstance naturally engendered a suspicion that he had originated the fire; but when we remember that a lighthouse affords no means of retreat for its inmates, and that the probability is they will perish with it, we can barely believe it to be the place which an incendiary would choose for his nefarious design. As Smeaton says, we would rather impute the man’s sudden flight to that kind of panic which sometimes, on important occasions, overpowers a weak mind; making it act without reason, and influencing it to commit unwittingly the most preposterous and injurious mistakes.Of the other two light-keepers, one, named Henry Hall, met his death in an extraordinary manner. While engaged in throwing some buckets of water on the flaming roof of the cupola, he happened to look upwards, and a quantity of lead, melted by the heat, descended suddenly from theroof, and fell on his head, face, and shoulders, burning him severely. His mouth was open at the time, and he persisted in declaring that a portion of the lead had gone down his throat. The medical practitioner who attended him after his removal ashore not unnaturally regarded the story as incredible; but the man continued to grow worse, and on the twelfth day of his illness, after some violent spasms, expired. A post-mortem examination of his body was then made, and the poor man’s assertion found to be literally true, for in the stomach lay a flat oval piece of lead seven ounces and five drachms in weight.Before we quit the subject of Rudyerd’s Lighthouse, we must refer to another romantic narrative of which it was the scene.For some years after its establishment it was attended by two custodians only, whose duty it was to keep the windows of the lantern clean, and who were on guard for four hours alternately. Each at the conclusion of his watch was bound to call the other, and before he retired, to see that his successor took up his proper post. It happened, however, that, on one occasion, when the keeper on duty went to call his colleague, he found him—dead. Immediately he hoisted his flag on the balcony, from whence it was visible at the Rame Head, near Plymouth, and waited eagerly for the assistance this signal usually brought. Unhappily, the weather became so boisterous that no boat could put out from the shore, and the lonely keeper was reduced to the miserable companionship of a dead body. It is difficult to conceive of any situation more wretched or alarming; he dared not dispose of thecorpse; for if he flung it into the waves—his only means of getting rid of it—he justly feared that he might be charged with the murder of his companion; and yet, each day that it remained, his own life was endangered by its extremely offensive condition. For nearly a month this long agony lasted. When, at last, a boat succeeded in reaching the rock, the building was found to be filled with an intolerable odour, and the corpse in such a condition that it was impossible to remove it to Plymouth for interment; it was therefore consigned to the deep.This incident led to the employment thenceforward of three keepers, so that in case one of them died, or was sick, there might always be two on duty.The value of a lighthouse on the Eddystone had been so abundantly proved, and, owing to the rapidly increasing commerce of the kingdom, its necessity was now so absolute, that the authorities resolved to lose no time in erecting a new one in the place of Rudyerd’s unfortunate structure.As on the two previous occasions, says Mr. Smiles, when, first, a country gentleman, and, next, a London mercer, had been called upon to undertake this difficult work, the person now appointed was neither a builder, an architect, nor an engineer, but a mathematical instrument maker. John Smeaton, however—to whom the difficult task was entrusted—had already given proof of a signal capacity for mechanics, and in the general estimation of scientific men no better or more fortunate selection could possibly have been made.At this time Smeaton was only thirty-two years of age,having been born at Ansthorpe Lodge, near Leeds, on the 8th of June 1724. His father was a respectable attorney, but, from his earliest youth, John Smeaton had exhibited a natural predisposition for the engineer’s business. In truth, he was a mechanic born; in his childhood his playthings were mechanical tools; and before his sixth year he had designed a windmill and the model of a pump. He was sent to school at Leeds, but seems to have made no progress in any other branches than geometry and arithmetic. He occupied his holidays with mechanical pursuits, and on one occasion constructed a forcing-pump, which exhausted all the water in his father’s fish-pond. At the age of fourteen he was an adept at smithery and turnery. He forged his iron and steel, and melted his metal. Tools had he in abundance, and of every kind, for working in metals, wood, or ivory. What was to be done with such a lad? His father wished him to be a “gentleman,” and follow his own profession; Smeaton was content to become an “operative,” and apprenticed himself to a mathematical instrument maker. He soon attained to such proficiency, that, in 1750, he commenced business on his own account. In 1751 he invented a machine to measure a ship’s way at sea, as also a compass of peculiar construction. Enlarging the range of his studies, he submitted to the Royal Society, in 1752, some improvements which he had contrived in the air-pump, and experiments on the natural power of water and wind to turn mills and other machines dependent on circular motion.Such was the man—ingenious, able, earnest, patient, and persevering—to whom was entrusted the erection of thethirdlighthouse upon the Eddystone rock.On examining into the nature of the work he was required to undertake, his first conclusion was, that both Winstanley’s and Rudyerd’s lighthouses had been deficient in want ofweight, and he announced it as his intention to build a structure of such solidity that the sea should give way to the lighthouse, and not the lighthouse to the sea. He therefore resolved to build it of stone.His predecessors had lost much valuable time from the difficulty of landing on the rock, and of working on it continuously for any considerable period. To obviate this, Smeaton decided on mooring a vessel within a quarter of a mile of it, which should accommodate the workmen and their tools, and enable them to seize every favourable opportunity of putting out their boat and carrying their materials to the Eddystone, instead of making a long voyage from Plymouth on each occasion.With respect to theformof his intended erection, he resolved to adopt Rudyerd’s idea of a cone, but to enlarge the diameter considerably, and, on the whole, to keep before him as a model the trunk of a stately oak tree.[27]The first actual work done on the rock was in August 1756, but the autumn was mainly occupied in the transportation and preparation of the granite and other materials, and in excavating the steps or stages for the reception of the foundation.Early in June 1757 Smeaton resumed his task withgreat energy and decision. On the 12th, the first stone was laid, weighing two tons and a quarter. On the next day the first course was finished, consisting of four stones. These were ingeniously dove-tailed together, and into the rock, so as to form a compact mass, from which it was impossible to separate any particular stone. The sloping form of the rock, remarks Mr. Smiles,[28]to which the foundation of the building was adapted, required but this small number of stones for the first course; the diameter of the building increasing until it reached the level of the rock. Then the second course, completed on the 30th of June, consisted of thirteen stones; the third, completed on the 11th of July, of twenty-five pieces; the fourth, on the 31st, of thirty-three. The sixth course was finished on the 11th of August, and rose above the general wash of the tide, so that Smeaton might fairly consider he had surmounted the greatest difficulties of his task.Up to this level, the highest point of the rock, all the courses had been begun by the stones that were securely dove-tailed into the rock, and also made fast by oak wedges and cement. To receive these wedges, a couple of grooves were cut in the waist of each stone, from the top to the bottom of the course, an inch deep and three inches wide. We borrow from Smeaton’s own narrative his description of the manner in which each stone was laid:—“The stone to be set being hung in the tackle, and its bed of mortar spread, was then lowered into its place, and beaten with a heavy wooden mall, and levelled with a spirit-level; and the stone being accurately brought to its marks, it was then considered as set in its place. The business now was to retain it exactly in that position, notwithstanding the utmost violence of the sea might come upon it before the mortar was hard enough to resist it. The carpenter now dropped into each groove two of the oaken wedges, one upon its head, the other with its point downwards, so that the two wedges in each groove would lie heads and points. With a bar of iron about two inches and a half broad, a quarter of an inch thick, and two feet and a half long, the ends being square, he could easily (as with a rammer) drive down one wedge upon the other; very gently at first, so that the opposite pairs of wedges, being equally tightened, they would equally resist each other, and the stone would therefore keep place. A couple of wedges were also, in like manner, pitched at the top of each groove; the dormant wedge, or that with the point upward, being held in the hand, while the drift-wedge, or that with its point downward, was driven with a hammer. The whole of what remained above the upper surface of the stone was then cut off with a saw or chisel; and, generally, a couple of thin wedges were driven very moderately at the butt-end of the stone; whose tendency being to force it out of its dove-tail, they would, by moderate driving, only tend to preserve the whole mass steady together, in opposition to the violent agitation that might arise from the sea.”When the stone was firmly secured, the next step was to liquefy a certain portion of mortar; and the joints having been carefully pointed, up to the upper surface, this mortar or cement was poured in with iron ladles so as to occupy every empty space. The more consistent parts ofthe cement naturally fell to the bottom, and the watery were absorbed by the stone; the vacancy thus left at the top was repeatedly refilled, until all remained solid; then the top was pointed, and, where necessary, defended by a layer of plaster.The whole of the foundation having thus been elevated to a proper level, some other means was required to obtain a similar amount of security for the substructure.A hole of one foot square was accordingly cut right through the middle of the central stone in the sixth course; and at equal distances in the circumference were sunk eight other depressions of one foot square and six inches deep. A strong plug of hard marble, from the rocks near Plymouth, one foot square, andtwenty-two incheslong, was set with mortar in the central cavity, and driven firmly into it with wedges. As this course wasthirteen inches high, it is evident that the marble plug which reached through it rosenine inchesabove the surface. Upon this was fixed the central stone of the next course, having a similar bore in its middle, bedded with mortar, and wedged as before. By this means, no force of the sea acting horizontally upon the central stone, unless it was able to cut in two the marble plug, could move it from its position; and the more effectually to prevent the stone from being lifted, in case its bed of mortar should chance to be destroyed, it was fixed down by four trenails. The stones surrounding the central were dove-tailed to it in the same manner as before, and thus one course rose above another, with no other interruption than the occasional violence of the waves or inclemency of the weather.In every stage of the laborious and difficult work Smeaton himself was foremost. When it had proceeded so far as to present the appearance of a level platform, he could not deny himself the gratification of enjoying the limited promenade which it afforded; but making a false step, and being unable to recover himself, he fell over the brink of the work, and among the rocks on the west side. The tide having retired, he sustained no very serious injury; but he dislocated his thumb, and as no medical assistance could be procured, set it himself, and returned to his work. The incident is characteristic of the courage and tenacity of the man.The ninth course was laid on the 30th of September, and the weather becoming boisterous, further operations were suspended for that year.The following winter was very tempestuous, and it was the 12th of May before Smeaton and his workmen again saw the Eddystone. To their delight and surprise they found the entire work in the same condition as when they left it. The cement appeared to have become as hard as the stone itself, the whole being concreted into one solid mass.Thenceforward the work made vigorous and successful progress, and, by September, the twenty-fourth course was reached and laid. This completed what is called “the Solid” part of the building, and formed the floor of the store-room; so that Smeaton had no reason to be dissatisfied with the operations of the season. But as he had long been meditating on the advantage to the public which would accrue if a light could be exhibited that very winter,he resolved on a vigorous effort to complete the store-room and erect a light above it.The building, says an accurate authority,[29]had hitherto been carried up solid as high as there was any reason to imagine it would be subjected to the heavy rush of the sea; that is, to 35 feet 4 inches above its base, and 27 feet above the top of the rock, on the common spring-tide high-water mark. At this elevation it was reduced to 16 feet 8 inches diameter; and it was needful to make the best use of this space, and economize it to the utmost advantage consistent with the one primary and indispensable condition ofstrength. The rooms were built with a diameter of 12 feet 4 inches, having for the walls a thickness of 2 feet 2 inches. These walls were made of single blocks, and so shaped that a complete circle was formed by sixteen pieces, which were cramped together with iron, and also secured to the lower courses by marble plugs as before. To prevent any humidity penetrating through the vertical joints, flat stones were introduced into each, in such a manner as to be lodged partly in one stone and partly in another. With all these ingenious precautions, the twenty-eighth course was completely set on the 30th of September.This, and the next course, received the vaulted floor, which formed at once theceilingof the store-room, and thefloorof the upper store-room. For additional security, therefore, a groove was cut round the upper surface of the course, in which was lodged a massive chain of iron. Upon this chain, in the groove, melted lead was poured, until the cavity was filled up. The next course was laidand completed in a similar manner; and by the 10th of October Smeaton had nearly perfected his arrangements for establishing a light and light-keepers at the Eddystone, when his hopes were suddenly stricken by a prohibition from the Trinity House, based upon legal difficulties. But this being at last removed, the work was recommenced for the next and last season on the 5th of July. On the 21st, the second floor was finished; on the 29th, the fortieth course was laid, and the third floor finished.SMEATON’S LIGHTHOUSE AT THE EDDYSTONE.On the 17th of August 1759, the main column of the lighthouse was completed. Forty-six courses of masonry had been laid, and the graceful structure raised to its specified height of seventy feet. The last work done, very appropriately, was the engraving of the words “Laus Deo” (Praise be to God!) on the last stone set over the lantern. At an earlier date, Smeaton, with devout humility, had inscribed on the course beneath the ceilingof the upper store-room, “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.” The iron-work of the balcony and the lantern were next erected, and the whole was surmounted by a gilt ball.The internal arrangements of the lighthouse were as follow:—First, the store-room, with a doorway, but no windows.Second, the upper store-room.Third, the kitchen, with a fireplace and sink, two settles with lockers, a dresser with drawers, two cupboards, and a rack for dishes.Fourth, the bedroom, with three cabin-beds, to hold one man in each, with three drawers and two lockers in each to receive his separate property.Fifth, the lantern, in which a seat was placed all round, except at the doorway.Besides the windows of the lantern, ten other windows were constructed for the edifice—namely, for the store-room two, and for each of the upper rooms four. In fixing their bars, an accident happened to Smeaton, which was nearly attended with fatal results.“After the boat was gone,” he says, “and it became so dark that we could not see any longer to pursue our occupations, I ordered a charcoal-fire to be made in the upper store-room, in one of the iron pots we used for melting lead, for the purpose of annealing the blank ends of the bars; and they were made red-hot altogether in the charcoal. Most of the workmen were set round the fire, and by way of making ourselves comfortable, by screening ourselves and the fire from the wind, the windows wereshut; and, as well as I remember, the copper cover or hatch put over the man-hole of the floor of the room where the fire was—the hatch above being left open for the heated vapour to ascend. I remember to have looked into the fire attentively to see that the iron was made hot enough, but not overheated: I also remember I felt my head a very little giddy; but the next thing of which I had any sensation or idea was finding myself upon the floor of the room below, half drowned with water. It seems that, without being further sensible of anything to give me warning, the effluvia of the charcoal so suddenly overcame all sensation, that I dropped down upon the floor; and had not the people hauled me down to the room below, where they did not spare for cold water to throw in my face and upon me, I certainly should have expired upon the spot.”Escaping this and other perils, Smeaton saw his beautiful edifice finally brought to completion; and on the 16th of October a light was once more shown from the Eddystone rock.The lighthouse has now, as Mr. Smiles remarks, withstood the storms of upwards of a century—a solid monument to the genius of its architect and builder. Sometimes, he says,[30]when the sea rolls in with more than ordinary fury from the Atlantic, and the billows are driven up the Channel by the force of a south-west wind, the lighthouse is enveloped in spray, and its light momentarily obscured. But the shadow passes, and once more it beams across the waters like a star, a signal and a warning to the homeward bound. Occasionally, when astrong wave strikes it, the central portion of the wave shoots up the perpendicular shaft and leaps quite over the lantern. At other times, a colossal billow hurls itself upon the lighthouse, as if to shake it from its foundation; and to its inmates the shock is like that of a cannon; the windows rattle, the doors jar, and the building trembles to its very base. But the vibration felt throughout the lighthouse on such an occasion, instead of being a sign of weakness, is the best evidence that can be desired of the unity of the fabric and the cohesion of all its parts.When the Eddystone was built, scarcely any other light guided the mariner in his intricate navigation of the Channel; but now it is abundantly illuminated along its whole extent, and its course is almost as easily tracked as that of a main thoroughfare in London. First comes the St. Agnes Light, on one of the Scilly Isles, revolving every minute, at an elevation of 138 feet above high water. Next are made the two Lizard Lights, which crown the rugged cliffs at the southernmost point of the English coast. In the deep curve between this bold headland and the craggy promontories of Bolt Head and Start Point, lie the revolving light on St Anthony’s Point, and the two lights on Plymouth Breakwater; while out at sea, almost in front of Plymouth Sound, and midway between the Lizard and the Start, the waves beat and swirl around the Eddystone. On Start Point there are two lights: one revolving, for the Channel; and another fixed, to guide ships inshore clear of the Skerries.THE LIGHTSHIP AT THE NORE.Continuing our voyage up Channel, we see on the south, off the coast of Jersey, the three Casquet Lights,and on the north the two fixed lights of Portland Hill. If we make for Portsmouth, we are guided by the light on the outermost Needle Rock and the harbour signals; but keeping out at sea, we pass St. Catherine’s, on the extreme southerly headland of the Isle of Wight, and next, the lights displayed at different heights on the Nab, and the single fixed light on the Owers vessel.At Beachy Head the light, which revolves in two minutes, is 285 feet above high water. At Dungeness, the light, a red one of great power, is situated on the low projection of Dungeness beach. Next are sighted the harbour lights of Folkestone and Dover; whilst on the French coast beams the flashing light of the Varne Bank, and the splendid revolving light of Cape Grisnez.We quit the Channel with the South Foreland Lights, one above the other, on our left, and enter the historic waters of the Downs—so often traversed by the keels of our victorious fleets—with the South Sandhead floating light on the right. Then, on the one hand, our course is guided by the floating lights of the Gull and the North Sandhead—on the other by the friendly ray of the North Foreland lighthouse—until we reach the broad estuary of the Thames, where the lightship of the Nore marks the entrance of the greatest marine highway in the world.

BOOK III.LIGHTHOUSES OF GREAT BRITAIN.

Thefirst lighthouse of a regular character erected on the shores of England seems to have been that of Lowestoft, in 1609. Among its successors we may refer to those of Hunstanton Point, 1665, and of the Scilly Islands, 1680. To the same epoch belong the lighthouses of Dungeness, Orfordness, and the Eddystone; the latter being the most important, the most remarkable, and the most interesting, as, I think, the following brief narrative will not fail to show.

TheEddystoneis the name of the highest summit of a reef of rocks which lie in deep water about fourteen miles to the south-west of Plymouth harbour. As they are in a line with Lizard Head, in Cornwall, and Start Point, inDevonshire, they are not only in the track of vessels bound for the great Devonian seaport, but of vessels coasting up and down the English Channel. At high water they are barely visible, and their position could only be told by the waves whicheddyand seethe above them; at low water several low, broken, and dismal-looking ridges of gneiss become conspicuous. When the wind blows from the south-west, they are the centre of “a hell of waters,” and no ship involved in the vortex could hope to escape destruction.

It may readily be conceived that so perilous a reef, when unprotected by any beacon, was a source of deep alarm to the mariner, who, to give it the widest possible berth, was accustomed to enter the Channel in a much more southerly latitude than is now done. But in avoiding Scylla he often fell into Charybdis, and hence the numerous wrecks which occurred on the French coast, and more particularly upon the dangerous rocks surrounding the islands of Jersey, Guernsey, and Alderney.

The erection of a lighthouse upon the Eddystone was, therefore, a matter of national concern; yet no one could be found to undertake a task whose accomplishment nature seemed to have rendered impossible, until Henry Winstanley, a country gentleman of Littleberry, in Essex, chivalrously came forward in the year 1696, and having obtained the necessary legal powers, proceeded to carry his design into execution. This same Winstanley was one of those eccentric geniuses who find a pleasure in mystifying their friends, and in investing their daily life with an air of legerdemain. He adapted science to practical jokes with an ingenuity which, we think, has neverbeen surpassed. If a guest in his bedroom kicked an old slipper out of his way, immediately a ghost started from the floor. If, in another, he threw himself into a chair, it suddenly flung out its two arms, and held him fast as a prisoner. Or if in the garden he retired into an arbour, and rested on a particular seat, he was straightway set afloat in the middle of the adjoining canal.

To the native eccentricity of the man, it has been justly remarked, may be ascribed the fantastical character of the first Eddystone Lighthouse. Its erection was begun in 1696. The first summer—and it was only in summer the work could be carried on—was occupied in making twelve holes in the rock, and fastening as many irons in them, to serve as the superstructure.[25]The task progressed but slowly, for, as Winstanley himself relates, though it was summer, the weather would at times prove of such terrible violence, that for ten or fourteen days together the sea would so rage about the rocks—agitated by out-winds and the inrush of the ground-swell from the main ocean—as to mount and leap upwards some two hundred feet, completely burying the works, and preventing all approach to them.

The second summer was spent in constructing a solid round pillar twelve feet high and fourteen feet in diameter. In the third year the pillar was enlarged two feet at the base, and the edifice carried up to a height of sixty feet. “Being all finished,” says the engineer,“with the lantern, and all the rooms that were in it, we ventured to lodge there soon after midsummer, for the greater dispatch of the work. But the first night the weather came bad, and so continued, that it was eleven days before any boats could come near us again; and not being acquainted with the height of the sea’s rising, we were almost drowned with wet, and our provisions in as bad a condition, though we worked night and day as much as possible to make shelter for ourselves. In this storm we lost some of our materials, although we did what we could to save them; but the boat then returning, we all left the house to be refreshed on shore: and as soon as the weather did permit we returned and finished all, and put up the light on the 14th November 1698; which being so late in the year, it was three days before Christmas before we had relief to go on shore again, and were almost at the last extremity for want of provisions; but, by good Providence, then two boats came with provisions and the family that was to take care of the light; and so ended this year’s work.”

WINSTANLEY’S LIGHTHOUSE AT THE EDDYSTONE.

The fourth year was devoted to strengthening the foundations and enlarging the structure, which, when completed, resembled nothing so much as “a Chinese pagoda, with open galleries and fantastic projections.” The gallery around the lantern was so wide and open, that it was possible, when the sea ran high, for a six-oared boat to be lifted by the waves and driven through it. Such an edifice could not long resist the fury of the waters or the violence of the gale; but, at least, it served to prove that a lighthousecouldbe erected on the rock, and its achievement was one of the most laudable enterprises which any heroic mind could undertake, for it filled the breast of the mariner with new hope.

Winstanley was proud of his work, and so convinced,it is said, of its entire solidity, that he expressed a wish to be beneath its roof in the greatest storm that ever blew under the face of heaven, convinced that it could not shake one joist or beam. He had his presumptuous wish fulfilled. With his workmen and keepers he had taken up his abode in the lighthouse, when a terrible gale blew up, and on the 26th of November attained to an unparalleled excess of fury. In truth, it was of so frightful a character that contemporary annals vividly record its destructive effects, and the alarm it produced.

All through that memorable night the tempest raged. As soon as morning came the people of Plymouth hastened to the beach, and turned their gaze instinctively towards the Eddystone. But no structure crowned the rock, over which the waves were tossing and swirling all unchecked. The lighthouse was swept away, and no vestiges remained of its adventurous occupants.

The question now arose, Who was to rebuild the lighthouse? Three years passed before it was answered; and then the task was taken up by one Captain Lovet, who obtained a ninety-nine years’ lease from the Trinity Corporation, and immediately engaged as his architect asilk-merceron Ludgate Hill, named John Rudyerd. What reasons guided Lovet in his curious choice we cannot ascertain; probably Rudyerd had given some signal proofs of mechanical ingenuity; but, at all events, the choice proved a felicitous one. Rudyerd submitted for the new building an elegant and admirable design; instead of a polygon, he chose a circle for the outline, and instead of the projections and ornaments with which Winstanley hadarrested every breeze that blew, he studied the utmost simplicity, so as to offer wind or wave the slightest possible resistance.

He secured the foundation with the utmost care. He divided the irregular surface of the rock into seven rather unequal stages, and cut thirty-six holes in these, to the depth of from twenty to thirty inches. These holes were six inches square at the top, gradually narrowing to five inches, and then again expanding and flattening to nine inches by three at the bottom. Into these dove-tailed holes strong iron bolts or branches were keyed; each bolt being fitted exactly in size to the hole it was intended to fill, and weighing from two to five hundredweight, according to its length and structure.

The bolts made fast, Rudyerd proceeded to fix a course of squared oak timbers lengthwise upon the lowest step, so as to reach the level of the step above. Another set of timbers were then laid crosswise, so as to cover those already laid, and to raise the level surface to the height of the third stage. The third structure was again laid lengthwise, the fourth crosswise, and so on, alternately, until a basement of solid wood was secured, two courses higher than the highest point of the rock; all being fitted together and to the rock, by means of the bolts, as firmly as possible, and all, in their intersections with one another, being closely trenailed.

The bolts originally let into the solid rock were perforated in their upper parts—some with three, and some with four holes; so that in every pair, collectively called abranch, there would be about seven holes. As the branches numbered thirty-six, there would be 252 holes,each about seven-eighths of an inch in diameter, and consequently as many large “bearded spikes” or “jag-bolts,” which, being driven through the branches into the solid timber, held the mass firmly down.

Rudyerd’s lighthouse is generally described as a timber edifice. This is not correct. Knowing that weight is best resisted and counteracted by weight, and to insure a sufficient amount of resistance, he combined with his courses of timber solid courses of Cornish granite, in this manner: the foundation was of oak for two courses; then came five courses of stone, each a foot in thickness, kept together by iron cramps; and then two courses more of timber. Thus was completed the basement.

The remainder of the edifice, which rose to an elevation of 69 feet, on a base of 23 feet, was built of timber. The interior consisted of four rooms, one above the other; and above the topmost was the lantern—an octagon of 10 feet 6 inches in diameter, crowned by a ball of 2 feet 3 inches in diameter. The whole height of the lighthouse, from the lowest side of the rock to the top of the ball, was 92 feet. It was completely finished in 1709.

In connection with this ingenious structure an anecdote is always related, illustrative of the kindly feeling which Louis XIV. occasionally exhibited. There was war at the time between England and France, and a French privateer seized the opportunity of carrying off the workmen employed in building the lighthouse as prisoners. As soon as their capture was made known to the king, he ordered their immediate release, and that they should be sent back to their work, with some presents to compensatefor their detention. “Though at war with England,” said the king, “I am not at war with mankind.” The Eddystone lighthouse is so situated as to be of equal service to all nations having occasion to navigate the Channel that separates France from England.

Yet another anecdote: Some visitors to the lighthouse, after inspecting its internal arrangements, observed to one of the keepers that he thought it quite possible to live very comfortably in its quiet seclusion. “That might be,” said the man, “if we had but the use of our tongues; but it is now fully a month since my partner and I have spoken to each other.”

Rudyerd’s lighthouse continued to brave “the elemental fury,” and warn the seamen from the fatal rocks, until the 2nd of December 1755, when it fell before a most unexpected enemy. Through some unknown cause the building caught fire. Three keepers at the time were within the lighthouse; and when one of them, whose turn it was to watch, entered the lantern, at about two o’clock in the morning, to snuff the candles, he discovered it to be filled with smoke,[26]and on his opening the door which led to the balcony, a flame instantly burst from the inside of the cupola. He hastened to alarm his companions, and they used every exertion to extinguish the fire; but, owing to the difficulty of raising a sufficient supply of water to the top of the building, and the dryness of the internal timber, they soon found their effortsvain, and as the fire increased in force, were compelled to retreat downwards from stage to stage.

Early in the morning the fire was descried by some fishermen, who carried the news ashore, and a well-manned boat was immediately dispatched to the relief of the poor keepers.

It reached the Eddystone at ten o’clock, when the fire had been burning eight hours. The light-keepers had been driven from the building to avoid the falling beams, and molten lead and red-hot iron; and were found, stupefied with terror, in a cave on the east side of the rock. With difficulty they were removed into the boat, and carried ashore. No sooner were they landed than one of them, strange to say, immediately made off, and was never afterwards heard of. So singular a circumstance naturally engendered a suspicion that he had originated the fire; but when we remember that a lighthouse affords no means of retreat for its inmates, and that the probability is they will perish with it, we can barely believe it to be the place which an incendiary would choose for his nefarious design. As Smeaton says, we would rather impute the man’s sudden flight to that kind of panic which sometimes, on important occasions, overpowers a weak mind; making it act without reason, and influencing it to commit unwittingly the most preposterous and injurious mistakes.

Of the other two light-keepers, one, named Henry Hall, met his death in an extraordinary manner. While engaged in throwing some buckets of water on the flaming roof of the cupola, he happened to look upwards, and a quantity of lead, melted by the heat, descended suddenly from theroof, and fell on his head, face, and shoulders, burning him severely. His mouth was open at the time, and he persisted in declaring that a portion of the lead had gone down his throat. The medical practitioner who attended him after his removal ashore not unnaturally regarded the story as incredible; but the man continued to grow worse, and on the twelfth day of his illness, after some violent spasms, expired. A post-mortem examination of his body was then made, and the poor man’s assertion found to be literally true, for in the stomach lay a flat oval piece of lead seven ounces and five drachms in weight.

Before we quit the subject of Rudyerd’s Lighthouse, we must refer to another romantic narrative of which it was the scene.

For some years after its establishment it was attended by two custodians only, whose duty it was to keep the windows of the lantern clean, and who were on guard for four hours alternately. Each at the conclusion of his watch was bound to call the other, and before he retired, to see that his successor took up his proper post. It happened, however, that, on one occasion, when the keeper on duty went to call his colleague, he found him—dead. Immediately he hoisted his flag on the balcony, from whence it was visible at the Rame Head, near Plymouth, and waited eagerly for the assistance this signal usually brought. Unhappily, the weather became so boisterous that no boat could put out from the shore, and the lonely keeper was reduced to the miserable companionship of a dead body. It is difficult to conceive of any situation more wretched or alarming; he dared not dispose of thecorpse; for if he flung it into the waves—his only means of getting rid of it—he justly feared that he might be charged with the murder of his companion; and yet, each day that it remained, his own life was endangered by its extremely offensive condition. For nearly a month this long agony lasted. When, at last, a boat succeeded in reaching the rock, the building was found to be filled with an intolerable odour, and the corpse in such a condition that it was impossible to remove it to Plymouth for interment; it was therefore consigned to the deep.

This incident led to the employment thenceforward of three keepers, so that in case one of them died, or was sick, there might always be two on duty.

The value of a lighthouse on the Eddystone had been so abundantly proved, and, owing to the rapidly increasing commerce of the kingdom, its necessity was now so absolute, that the authorities resolved to lose no time in erecting a new one in the place of Rudyerd’s unfortunate structure.

As on the two previous occasions, says Mr. Smiles, when, first, a country gentleman, and, next, a London mercer, had been called upon to undertake this difficult work, the person now appointed was neither a builder, an architect, nor an engineer, but a mathematical instrument maker. John Smeaton, however—to whom the difficult task was entrusted—had already given proof of a signal capacity for mechanics, and in the general estimation of scientific men no better or more fortunate selection could possibly have been made.

At this time Smeaton was only thirty-two years of age,having been born at Ansthorpe Lodge, near Leeds, on the 8th of June 1724. His father was a respectable attorney, but, from his earliest youth, John Smeaton had exhibited a natural predisposition for the engineer’s business. In truth, he was a mechanic born; in his childhood his playthings were mechanical tools; and before his sixth year he had designed a windmill and the model of a pump. He was sent to school at Leeds, but seems to have made no progress in any other branches than geometry and arithmetic. He occupied his holidays with mechanical pursuits, and on one occasion constructed a forcing-pump, which exhausted all the water in his father’s fish-pond. At the age of fourteen he was an adept at smithery and turnery. He forged his iron and steel, and melted his metal. Tools had he in abundance, and of every kind, for working in metals, wood, or ivory. What was to be done with such a lad? His father wished him to be a “gentleman,” and follow his own profession; Smeaton was content to become an “operative,” and apprenticed himself to a mathematical instrument maker. He soon attained to such proficiency, that, in 1750, he commenced business on his own account. In 1751 he invented a machine to measure a ship’s way at sea, as also a compass of peculiar construction. Enlarging the range of his studies, he submitted to the Royal Society, in 1752, some improvements which he had contrived in the air-pump, and experiments on the natural power of water and wind to turn mills and other machines dependent on circular motion.

Such was the man—ingenious, able, earnest, patient, and persevering—to whom was entrusted the erection of thethirdlighthouse upon the Eddystone rock.

On examining into the nature of the work he was required to undertake, his first conclusion was, that both Winstanley’s and Rudyerd’s lighthouses had been deficient in want ofweight, and he announced it as his intention to build a structure of such solidity that the sea should give way to the lighthouse, and not the lighthouse to the sea. He therefore resolved to build it of stone.

His predecessors had lost much valuable time from the difficulty of landing on the rock, and of working on it continuously for any considerable period. To obviate this, Smeaton decided on mooring a vessel within a quarter of a mile of it, which should accommodate the workmen and their tools, and enable them to seize every favourable opportunity of putting out their boat and carrying their materials to the Eddystone, instead of making a long voyage from Plymouth on each occasion.

With respect to theformof his intended erection, he resolved to adopt Rudyerd’s idea of a cone, but to enlarge the diameter considerably, and, on the whole, to keep before him as a model the trunk of a stately oak tree.[27]

The first actual work done on the rock was in August 1756, but the autumn was mainly occupied in the transportation and preparation of the granite and other materials, and in excavating the steps or stages for the reception of the foundation.

Early in June 1757 Smeaton resumed his task withgreat energy and decision. On the 12th, the first stone was laid, weighing two tons and a quarter. On the next day the first course was finished, consisting of four stones. These were ingeniously dove-tailed together, and into the rock, so as to form a compact mass, from which it was impossible to separate any particular stone. The sloping form of the rock, remarks Mr. Smiles,[28]to which the foundation of the building was adapted, required but this small number of stones for the first course; the diameter of the building increasing until it reached the level of the rock. Then the second course, completed on the 30th of June, consisted of thirteen stones; the third, completed on the 11th of July, of twenty-five pieces; the fourth, on the 31st, of thirty-three. The sixth course was finished on the 11th of August, and rose above the general wash of the tide, so that Smeaton might fairly consider he had surmounted the greatest difficulties of his task.

Up to this level, the highest point of the rock, all the courses had been begun by the stones that were securely dove-tailed into the rock, and also made fast by oak wedges and cement. To receive these wedges, a couple of grooves were cut in the waist of each stone, from the top to the bottom of the course, an inch deep and three inches wide. We borrow from Smeaton’s own narrative his description of the manner in which each stone was laid:—

“The stone to be set being hung in the tackle, and its bed of mortar spread, was then lowered into its place, and beaten with a heavy wooden mall, and levelled with a spirit-level; and the stone being accurately brought to its marks, it was then considered as set in its place. The business now was to retain it exactly in that position, notwithstanding the utmost violence of the sea might come upon it before the mortar was hard enough to resist it. The carpenter now dropped into each groove two of the oaken wedges, one upon its head, the other with its point downwards, so that the two wedges in each groove would lie heads and points. With a bar of iron about two inches and a half broad, a quarter of an inch thick, and two feet and a half long, the ends being square, he could easily (as with a rammer) drive down one wedge upon the other; very gently at first, so that the opposite pairs of wedges, being equally tightened, they would equally resist each other, and the stone would therefore keep place. A couple of wedges were also, in like manner, pitched at the top of each groove; the dormant wedge, or that with the point upward, being held in the hand, while the drift-wedge, or that with its point downward, was driven with a hammer. The whole of what remained above the upper surface of the stone was then cut off with a saw or chisel; and, generally, a couple of thin wedges were driven very moderately at the butt-end of the stone; whose tendency being to force it out of its dove-tail, they would, by moderate driving, only tend to preserve the whole mass steady together, in opposition to the violent agitation that might arise from the sea.”

When the stone was firmly secured, the next step was to liquefy a certain portion of mortar; and the joints having been carefully pointed, up to the upper surface, this mortar or cement was poured in with iron ladles so as to occupy every empty space. The more consistent parts ofthe cement naturally fell to the bottom, and the watery were absorbed by the stone; the vacancy thus left at the top was repeatedly refilled, until all remained solid; then the top was pointed, and, where necessary, defended by a layer of plaster.

The whole of the foundation having thus been elevated to a proper level, some other means was required to obtain a similar amount of security for the substructure.

A hole of one foot square was accordingly cut right through the middle of the central stone in the sixth course; and at equal distances in the circumference were sunk eight other depressions of one foot square and six inches deep. A strong plug of hard marble, from the rocks near Plymouth, one foot square, andtwenty-two incheslong, was set with mortar in the central cavity, and driven firmly into it with wedges. As this course wasthirteen inches high, it is evident that the marble plug which reached through it rosenine inchesabove the surface. Upon this was fixed the central stone of the next course, having a similar bore in its middle, bedded with mortar, and wedged as before. By this means, no force of the sea acting horizontally upon the central stone, unless it was able to cut in two the marble plug, could move it from its position; and the more effectually to prevent the stone from being lifted, in case its bed of mortar should chance to be destroyed, it was fixed down by four trenails. The stones surrounding the central were dove-tailed to it in the same manner as before, and thus one course rose above another, with no other interruption than the occasional violence of the waves or inclemency of the weather.

In every stage of the laborious and difficult work Smeaton himself was foremost. When it had proceeded so far as to present the appearance of a level platform, he could not deny himself the gratification of enjoying the limited promenade which it afforded; but making a false step, and being unable to recover himself, he fell over the brink of the work, and among the rocks on the west side. The tide having retired, he sustained no very serious injury; but he dislocated his thumb, and as no medical assistance could be procured, set it himself, and returned to his work. The incident is characteristic of the courage and tenacity of the man.

The ninth course was laid on the 30th of September, and the weather becoming boisterous, further operations were suspended for that year.

The following winter was very tempestuous, and it was the 12th of May before Smeaton and his workmen again saw the Eddystone. To their delight and surprise they found the entire work in the same condition as when they left it. The cement appeared to have become as hard as the stone itself, the whole being concreted into one solid mass.

Thenceforward the work made vigorous and successful progress, and, by September, the twenty-fourth course was reached and laid. This completed what is called “the Solid” part of the building, and formed the floor of the store-room; so that Smeaton had no reason to be dissatisfied with the operations of the season. But as he had long been meditating on the advantage to the public which would accrue if a light could be exhibited that very winter,he resolved on a vigorous effort to complete the store-room and erect a light above it.

The building, says an accurate authority,[29]had hitherto been carried up solid as high as there was any reason to imagine it would be subjected to the heavy rush of the sea; that is, to 35 feet 4 inches above its base, and 27 feet above the top of the rock, on the common spring-tide high-water mark. At this elevation it was reduced to 16 feet 8 inches diameter; and it was needful to make the best use of this space, and economize it to the utmost advantage consistent with the one primary and indispensable condition ofstrength. The rooms were built with a diameter of 12 feet 4 inches, having for the walls a thickness of 2 feet 2 inches. These walls were made of single blocks, and so shaped that a complete circle was formed by sixteen pieces, which were cramped together with iron, and also secured to the lower courses by marble plugs as before. To prevent any humidity penetrating through the vertical joints, flat stones were introduced into each, in such a manner as to be lodged partly in one stone and partly in another. With all these ingenious precautions, the twenty-eighth course was completely set on the 30th of September.

This, and the next course, received the vaulted floor, which formed at once theceilingof the store-room, and thefloorof the upper store-room. For additional security, therefore, a groove was cut round the upper surface of the course, in which was lodged a massive chain of iron. Upon this chain, in the groove, melted lead was poured, until the cavity was filled up. The next course was laidand completed in a similar manner; and by the 10th of October Smeaton had nearly perfected his arrangements for establishing a light and light-keepers at the Eddystone, when his hopes were suddenly stricken by a prohibition from the Trinity House, based upon legal difficulties. But this being at last removed, the work was recommenced for the next and last season on the 5th of July. On the 21st, the second floor was finished; on the 29th, the fortieth course was laid, and the third floor finished.

SMEATON’S LIGHTHOUSE AT THE EDDYSTONE.

On the 17th of August 1759, the main column of the lighthouse was completed. Forty-six courses of masonry had been laid, and the graceful structure raised to its specified height of seventy feet. The last work done, very appropriately, was the engraving of the words “Laus Deo” (Praise be to God!) on the last stone set over the lantern. At an earlier date, Smeaton, with devout humility, had inscribed on the course beneath the ceilingof the upper store-room, “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.” The iron-work of the balcony and the lantern were next erected, and the whole was surmounted by a gilt ball.

The internal arrangements of the lighthouse were as follow:—

First, the store-room, with a doorway, but no windows.

Second, the upper store-room.

Third, the kitchen, with a fireplace and sink, two settles with lockers, a dresser with drawers, two cupboards, and a rack for dishes.

Fourth, the bedroom, with three cabin-beds, to hold one man in each, with three drawers and two lockers in each to receive his separate property.

Fifth, the lantern, in which a seat was placed all round, except at the doorway.

Besides the windows of the lantern, ten other windows were constructed for the edifice—namely, for the store-room two, and for each of the upper rooms four. In fixing their bars, an accident happened to Smeaton, which was nearly attended with fatal results.

“After the boat was gone,” he says, “and it became so dark that we could not see any longer to pursue our occupations, I ordered a charcoal-fire to be made in the upper store-room, in one of the iron pots we used for melting lead, for the purpose of annealing the blank ends of the bars; and they were made red-hot altogether in the charcoal. Most of the workmen were set round the fire, and by way of making ourselves comfortable, by screening ourselves and the fire from the wind, the windows wereshut; and, as well as I remember, the copper cover or hatch put over the man-hole of the floor of the room where the fire was—the hatch above being left open for the heated vapour to ascend. I remember to have looked into the fire attentively to see that the iron was made hot enough, but not overheated: I also remember I felt my head a very little giddy; but the next thing of which I had any sensation or idea was finding myself upon the floor of the room below, half drowned with water. It seems that, without being further sensible of anything to give me warning, the effluvia of the charcoal so suddenly overcame all sensation, that I dropped down upon the floor; and had not the people hauled me down to the room below, where they did not spare for cold water to throw in my face and upon me, I certainly should have expired upon the spot.”

Escaping this and other perils, Smeaton saw his beautiful edifice finally brought to completion; and on the 16th of October a light was once more shown from the Eddystone rock.

The lighthouse has now, as Mr. Smiles remarks, withstood the storms of upwards of a century—a solid monument to the genius of its architect and builder. Sometimes, he says,[30]when the sea rolls in with more than ordinary fury from the Atlantic, and the billows are driven up the Channel by the force of a south-west wind, the lighthouse is enveloped in spray, and its light momentarily obscured. But the shadow passes, and once more it beams across the waters like a star, a signal and a warning to the homeward bound. Occasionally, when astrong wave strikes it, the central portion of the wave shoots up the perpendicular shaft and leaps quite over the lantern. At other times, a colossal billow hurls itself upon the lighthouse, as if to shake it from its foundation; and to its inmates the shock is like that of a cannon; the windows rattle, the doors jar, and the building trembles to its very base. But the vibration felt throughout the lighthouse on such an occasion, instead of being a sign of weakness, is the best evidence that can be desired of the unity of the fabric and the cohesion of all its parts.

When the Eddystone was built, scarcely any other light guided the mariner in his intricate navigation of the Channel; but now it is abundantly illuminated along its whole extent, and its course is almost as easily tracked as that of a main thoroughfare in London. First comes the St. Agnes Light, on one of the Scilly Isles, revolving every minute, at an elevation of 138 feet above high water. Next are made the two Lizard Lights, which crown the rugged cliffs at the southernmost point of the English coast. In the deep curve between this bold headland and the craggy promontories of Bolt Head and Start Point, lie the revolving light on St Anthony’s Point, and the two lights on Plymouth Breakwater; while out at sea, almost in front of Plymouth Sound, and midway between the Lizard and the Start, the waves beat and swirl around the Eddystone. On Start Point there are two lights: one revolving, for the Channel; and another fixed, to guide ships inshore clear of the Skerries.

THE LIGHTSHIP AT THE NORE.

Continuing our voyage up Channel, we see on the south, off the coast of Jersey, the three Casquet Lights,and on the north the two fixed lights of Portland Hill. If we make for Portsmouth, we are guided by the light on the outermost Needle Rock and the harbour signals; but keeping out at sea, we pass St. Catherine’s, on the extreme southerly headland of the Isle of Wight, and next, the lights displayed at different heights on the Nab, and the single fixed light on the Owers vessel.

At Beachy Head the light, which revolves in two minutes, is 285 feet above high water. At Dungeness, the light, a red one of great power, is situated on the low projection of Dungeness beach. Next are sighted the harbour lights of Folkestone and Dover; whilst on the French coast beams the flashing light of the Varne Bank, and the splendid revolving light of Cape Grisnez.

We quit the Channel with the South Foreland Lights, one above the other, on our left, and enter the historic waters of the Downs—so often traversed by the keels of our victorious fleets—with the South Sandhead floating light on the right. Then, on the one hand, our course is guided by the floating lights of the Gull and the North Sandhead—on the other by the friendly ray of the North Foreland lighthouse—until we reach the broad estuary of the Thames, where the lightship of the Nore marks the entrance of the greatest marine highway in the world.

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