CHAPTER XILIGHTHOUSES, LIGHTSHIPS, AND BUOYS

Justas the origin of ships is lost in the darkness of shrouded time, so is the origin of lighthouses lost. Perhaps to guide returning fishermen who all day and into the night had spread their nets or cast their spears for food, the women of some savage tribe of long ago built bonfires on the beach. Still that is a custom among simple folk who live hard by the sea and secure their livelihood from it.

From this the Egyptians of early times probably adopted their idea of lights, that were burned every night at given spots near the shore, in order that ships might find their way by them. Such fires were tended in those early days by priests, and a priestly duty it was—and still remains, although simple, quiet people now tend the lights and consider it only a work to be done—but it is a work of infinite value to the world of ships in which most of the reward lies in the knowledge of a task well done.

A Greek poet, writing about 660 B. C., mentions a lighthouse at Sigeum, a town near the site of ancient Troy, and this was one of the very earliest lighthouses regularly maintained. But in the years that followed this they probably became more and more numerous, and as their importance was recognized they became more and more similar in external appearance to those we know to-day. That this is probably true seems to be borne out by the erection at Alexandria, Egypt, about 275 B. C., of the famous Pharos, which, we are told, was 600 feet high and similar in shape to the minarets so common in Mohammedan lands to-day.That the structure was as high as it is said to have been seems doubtful, but that it was of extraordinary height is proved by its inclusion among the seven wonders of the ancient world. So impressive a lighthouse could hardly have been the first of its kind, although, no doubt, it far surpassed all others.

At the top of this great tower a fire was kept burning, and for nearly sixteen centuries its great shaft stood the test of time, before it collapsed in an earthquake. Centuries before its end, however, the Mohammedan conquerors had come to be the rulers of Egypt, and near the top of this great tower a small praying chamber was placed. Perhaps from its great height the muezzin called the faithful to their prayers, and certainly its graceful lines left a deep impression on the Mohammedans, for from it came the idea that resulted in the erection of the numerous minarets that mark almost every Mohammedan city of the earth.

And ere the convulsion of Nature toppled this striking edifice to the earth the idea of lighthouses had greatly widened, and widely separated lands had built lighthouses of their own to guide the sailor as he sailed the sea.

Rome built many along the coasts her ships were forced to visit, one at Dover and one at Boulogne being, probably, the earliest on the shores of England and of France. Both of these are gone, leaving only traces of their existence, but the ruins of the ancient tower at Ostia, at the mouth of the Tiber, still remain to remind us of great galleys that were guided by its fire in the nights of the first century after Christ. At Corunna, Spain, there still stands an ancient Phœnician or Roman tower, known as the Pillar of Hercules, and from its top, in ages now long dead, a flaring beacon marked the spot for sailors far at sea.

But all of these earlier lighthouses were built on dry land, sheltered by the shore from the crash of waves. It was thecity of Bordeaux, on the Gironde River in France, that first built a lighthouse on a wave-swept rock to warn ships from its treacheries.

THE PHAROS AT ALEXANDRIAOne of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and one of the first great lighthouses.

THE PHAROS AT ALEXANDRIA

One of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and one of the first great lighthouses.

The Gironde River flows into the stormy Bay of Biscay, its wide mouth often filled with foaming waves driving in from sea, which crash upon a rocky reef that lies in the very centre of the estuary. So great a toll of passing ships was taken by these rocks that the thriving city of Bordeaux was like to lose its water-borne commerce, and to keep the trade that meant so much to the city the citizens agreed to mark the spot with a light. A simple tower was erected on this spot about the year 805. For years it served, until Edwardthe Black Prince, temporarily in control of the vicinity, erected a slightly greater tower. For a time this, too, was kept, but finally, an aged keeper having died, the fire was no longer lit. For many years the rocks remained unlighted, and then, in 1584, during the reign of Henry II of France, a new lighthouse was begun. For twenty-five years the work of construction was under way, and when it was completed it was the most magnificent lighthouse of all time. Nor has another been built since to equal it in magnificence. About its base a great stone breakwater was built, surmounted by a balustrade. The lowest floor of the structure contains a beautiful hall and an apartment originally intended for the king. Above is a chapel, beautifully designed and decorated, and above this stands the tower which contains the light. This, originally, placed the light about one hundred feet above the rocks. Later the tower was increased in height to 207 feet and now it is equipped with the most modern apparatus, visible in clear weather for twenty-seven miles, to take the place of the blazing log fire that for so long did its best to guide the mariners in from sea.

Until the 18th Century the fires of these beacons burned wood, and then coal came gradually into use. The objections to such fires are obvious. They had no definite range, for fires died down or burnt furiously, and when a strong wind drove in from sea the fire was often all but hidden from sight of ships as it curled around in the lee of the tower.

But America had been settled and had such lighthouses on its own coast ere other methods superseded this.

The first lighthouse in the United States was the one on Little Brewster Island on the south of the main entrance to Boston Harbour. It was built in 1716, although the lighthouse now occupying that site was erected in 1859. During the Revolutionary War the structure was destroyed andrebuilt three times. The third structure was a stone tower sixty-eight feet high, and four oil lamps were used to illuminate it.

Wood and coal fires continued to be used, here and there, until the 19th Century was well begun. The last one of these in England to give way to more improved methods was the Flat Holme Light, in the Bristol Channel, where coal was burned until 1822.

THE TILLAMOOK ROCK LIGHT STATIONThis great rock, which lies about a mile off the coast of Oregon, was formerly a spot of terrible danger to ships. Great difficulties had to be overcome in order to erect this lighthouse, but now its 160,000-candle-power light is visible, in clear weather, for eighteen miles.

THE TILLAMOOK ROCK LIGHT STATION

This great rock, which lies about a mile off the coast of Oregon, was formerly a spot of terrible danger to ships. Great difficulties had to be overcome in order to erect this lighthouse, but now its 160,000-candle-power light is visible, in clear weather, for eighteen miles.

During the 19th Century, however, great improvements were made in lights, and equal improvements were made in the design and construction of lighthouses. The story of the development of lighthouses is one of dramatic intensity, filled with accounts of heroism, of ingenuity and perseverance. And not only in the building of lighthouses has heroism beenshown. The courage of the quiet men who man them—and women, too, for there are many to whom lighthouses are entrusted—in itself is the subject for a book. Courage and unselfish devotion to duty are the fundamentals upon which keepers of lights base their helpful lives. Regardless of comfort, regardless of danger, regardless of life itself,the light must burn. No other duty or desire compares with that determination. And so in calm or gale, in summer fog or storm-torn winter night, the men who sail the sea have come to depend with simple and abiding faith upon the lights, the foghorns, and the courage of the lighthousemen. Whether the Atlantic pounds with mountainous seas the slender shaft on Bishop’s Rock, or the Pacific piles its crashing surges high at Tillamook; whether the hot winds of Arabia blister the paint on the web of steel that holds the Red Sea light of Sanganeb Reef, or ice encrusts the giant light that guards Cape Race, the light must burn, and sailors out at sea sail past almost as confident of these lights as of the stars.

To one who has not seen the vast strength of the angry sea my words will mean but little, but any one who has seen needs no description and will not forget. Imagine a slender tower, built amid the smother of foam on a wave-swept rock. Imagine the supreme impudence of man who boldly sets himself the task of building there a cylinder of stone surmounted by a cage of glass. Nor does his impudence end there. Although it may be that for weeks at a time no boat may come near the spume and flying spray about the rocks above which stands the tower, yet in the tower are men. They calmly go about the tasks assigned to them. They polish the powerful lenses about the light. Each night they light the lamp. When fog obscures the spot they set their foghorn going. These are their duties.

And when storm threatens, do they leave? Not so, for then above all times is their duty clear.

Overhead fly the scurrying clouds before the storm. Below, the sea turns gray. A whitecap dots the surface of the water, and a sudden puff of wind leaves a ruffle of little waves as it passes. The clouds grow darker and the lightning flashes. The thunder snaps and roars and then comes the wind. Its voice is low at first as it whisks away the wave crests and tears them into spray. The tattered water slaps against the brown rock of the tower. The wind increases, blowing up the waves. They pound with growing strength against the foaming reef, and leap up higher toward the glass cage that marks the tall tower’s crest.

CAPE RACE LIGHTHOUSEA 1,100,000-candle-power light now marks the great Newfoundland headland of Cape Race. Near this cape lies the shortest sea route from the English Channel to Boston and New York, and ships entering the St. Lawrence River also must pass near it.

CAPE RACE LIGHTHOUSE

A 1,100,000-candle-power light now marks the great Newfoundland headland of Cape Race. Near this cape lies the shortest sea route from the English Channel to Boston and New York, and ships entering the St. Lawrence River also must pass near it.

The lightning flashes more, the thunder roars again. The wind goes wild and shrieks like mad, tearing water from the sea and throwing it high over the summit of the tower.The great waves boom as they pile up on the rocks. They crash against the tower which shudders with the blows. Surge after surge pounds savagely on the great rocks of the reef, and finally a mighty wave that seems to be a giant effort of the madly tortured sea lifts a raging crest high up, and drops it in the roaring surf. A great rock splits beneath the blow, the wave runs up the tall thin shaft and dashes high above its top, and then drops swiftly down, while there, unharmed amid the vastness and the terror of the storm still stands the tower that puny man has built to warn ships from the dangers that surround it.

The story of lighthouses is one to hold the interest of any one, and many books have been written telling it. “Lighthouses and Lightships,” by F. A. Talbot, is one of these, and from its pages one may take a new impression of the men who spend their lives in making the sea less dangerous for those who travel on it.

My task is different. I have space only to devote to why lighthouses exist and how they help sailors. And with lighthouses I shall include lightships—which, of course, are merely lighthouses that float—and buoys, which are used for many things.

Originally it is likely that lights were built ashore in order that sailors overtaken by night while on the sea could be directed to a landing place. Compasses, of course, were unknown, and while it is possible to sail a course by the stars, it is quite another matter to find a landing place by such means. Consequently, lights were built to mark shelving beaches or the entrances to harbours where ships could be landed.

But the light erected in 805 by Bordeaux was for the opposite purpose. It marked a place to keep well clear of, and lighthouses do that to-day almost exclusively.

MINOT’S LEDGE LIGHTWhich marks, near the entrance to Boston Harbour, a rocky reef seldom seen above the surface of the water. From this spot, the famous old skeleton iron lighthouse that formerly marked the reef was swept by a gale in 1851.

MINOT’S LEDGE LIGHT

Which marks, near the entrance to Boston Harbour, a rocky reef seldom seen above the surface of the water. From this spot, the famous old skeleton iron lighthouse that formerly marked the reef was swept by a gale in 1851.

If a reef lies near a course followed by ships a light mustguard it. If a sand bank is hidden from the sight of ships that might ground on it a light must be there as a warning. If an island constitutes a menace because swift currents flow past its shores a light must tell the sailor where the danger lies. Nor are lighthouses useful only at night. In daylight they form conspicuous marks from which the navigator may learn his exact position. In fog their huge foghorns wail like lost souls, sending warnings far into the engulfing mist in order that sailors may hear and know that land is near.Then, too, each light is individual. One flashes regularly, one irregularly, one red and white, one red alone. Other lights are steady beams, but each can be recognized, and so they are like friendly faces, recognizable, every one.

Perhaps the coast of France is the best lighted in the world. Certainly it would be difficult to imagine one with a more perfect system. I have sailed the coast of Brittany at night, fearful of the currents and the storms that often blow on the stormy Bay of Biscay. But always, to minimize the dangers of the rocky coast and hidden reefs, the lighthouses blinked, and the task is simple to determine one’s position any time, except in fogs. For the French have placed their lighthouses so that as a ship sails along the coast there are always at least two lights in sight at once. From these, cross bearings can be taken at almost any moment, and the careful navigator, in clear weather, need never feel uneasy as to his position. Ushant Island, that rocky islet just off the coast of Finisterre, was long a graveyard of ships—and still, from time to time, some ship is caught on its rocks—but now bold lights stand high above the smother of foam and the roar of breakers, marking the spot in order that ships may carefully give it a wide berth.

Formerly every lighthouse had to have attendants, as the most important still have, but modern improvements are making unattended lights more and more common. One finds them everywhere. The rocky coast of Sweden, the firths of Scotland, the mountains of the Strait of Magellan, the gorgeous coast of Indo-China all have many of these new beacons.

They flash accurately at regular intervals. They light their lights at dusk and turn them out at dawn. Some roar through the fog with their great warning voices, and all of this is automatic or semi-automatic. So far as the lights themselves are concerned they require no attention formonths at a time. The sun turns them off as it rises in the morning, and as it sets, the delicate apparatus that its light expands contracts once more and the light is turned on. From time to time a tender visits each of these. The apparatus is overhauled, the supply of fuel renewed, and again for months the light performs its task.

Nor are all lights placed in lighthouses. Many spots require other means, and lightships have been designed and built to perform the duties of lighthouses where lighthouses cannot be built.

BISHOP ROCK LIGHTHOUSEOn a cluster of rocks off the Scilly Islands near the entrance to the English Channel where converge the most important of all the world’s shipping lanes.

BISHOP ROCK LIGHTHOUSE

On a cluster of rocks off the Scilly Islands near the entrance to the English Channel where converge the most important of all the world’s shipping lanes.

To transatlantic travellers perhaps the most familiar of these is the Ambrose Channel Lightship, that rolls and pitches at its anchor outside the entrance to New YorkHarbour. But the most famous lightship on the American coast is the one that marks Diamond Shoal, that infamous spot just off Cape Hatteras. Several times the Government has attempted to build a lighthouse on this shoal, but the attempts have invariably been frustrated by the sea. A lighthouse does mark the Cape, but Diamond Shoal runs out beneath the stormy water for about nine miles from the Cape, and it is this dangerous sand bank that the lightship guards. Four and a half miles out from the bank the lightship is anchored in a stretch of water that has hardly a peer on earth for the frequency and suddenness of storms. Here this little ship jerks at her anchor, pounded by great seas, tugged at by swift currents, swept by fierce winds. She rolls and pitches, shipping seas over this side and then that, and jerking—always jerking at her cable. There is no easy smoothness to her roll as there is with a free ship at sea. There is no exhilaration to her pitch as she rises over the seas and plunges to the troughs, for always the jerk of the cable interferes, and from one month’s end to the next the little crew endures the discomfort and the hard work, in order that ships may be warned away from the treacherous sand of Diamond Shoal.

These sturdy little ships do mark other things than dangers. In many cases they are the modern counterparts of the beach fires of those early peoples which lighted belated boats in to shore. To-day, however, those lightships which perform this task swing at their anchors outside the entrances to harbours, marking the channel through which the ships must pass on their way in from sea.

In this duty they are similar to the lighted buoys which, in recent years, have been put to so many uses, the lightships being, however, greatly more conspicuous and generally marking a spot well outside the entrance to the channel.

Buoys are of many uses and of many shapes and sizes,marking danger spots, submarine cables, sunken wrecks, channels, as well as temporary obstructions. Some are used for mooring ships in harbours, some carry bells or whistles for sounding warnings, some carry lights. Attempts have been made to standardize the shapes and markings of buoys in all countries, but many lands still maintain their own designs, and the officers of a ship visiting strange waters must acquaint themselves with the particular designs there in use.

FIRE ISLAND LIGHTSHIPThis lightship is anchored off Fire Island, near the southern coast of Long Island, U. S. A. Lightships sometimes mark shoals, and sometimes mark the entrances to harbours. They are always kept anchored in given spots and are merely floating lighthouses, although, of course, they are sometimes relieved by other lightships so that they may undergo repairs.

FIRE ISLAND LIGHTSHIP

This lightship is anchored off Fire Island, near the southern coast of Long Island, U. S. A. Lightships sometimes mark shoals, and sometimes mark the entrances to harbours. They are always kept anchored in given spots and are merely floating lighthouses, although, of course, they are sometimes relieved by other lightships so that they may undergo repairs.

Buoys are of scores of different sizes and designs. They may be nothing more than tall painted poles of wood anchored to the bottom in shallow water and standing more or less vertically. These are called “spar” buoys, and are useful if ice is floating in the waters that they mark, for asthe ice floats against them they give way, the ice passes over them and they serenely reappear, none the worse.

On the other hand buoys may be huge structures of steel many tons in weight, forty feet from top to bottom, ten feet in diameter, and complex in their equipment of lights or whistles or bells. Or they may be great barrel-like steel floats, or conical ones, or great turnip-shaped floats. Some are spherical, some are of stranger shapes. They may be red or black or green. Some are striped, with weird decorations gracing their tops. Some support small triangles or spheres, some crosses, some paint-brush-like affairs. But each one has its particular uses, and one should hesitate to pass a buoy unless the thing it stands for is understood.

In United States waters, for instance, one needs to know that in coming in from sea a ship should pass with the red buoys, which are conical in shape and are called “nun” buoys, on the starboard, or right side. These buoys are further distinguished by being numbered with even numbers. At the same time all “can” buoys, which are black and cylindrical, with odd numbers painted on them, should be kept to the port or left side. Sometimes “spar” buoys replace these, but the buoys to starboard will always be red, the buoys to port black, as the ship comes in from sea.

Buoys painted with red and black horizontal lines mark obstructions with channels on both sides. Buoys with white and black perpendicular stripes sometimes mark the middle of a channel and a ship should pass close to them. Buoys marking quarantine are yellow, while buoys marking the limits of anchorages are usually white.

AUTOMATIC BUOYSThe whistle buoy at the left utilizes the motion of the waves to blow a whistle. The light buoy in the centre has an automatic light that burns gas stored in the body of the buoy. The bell buoy at the right carries a bell, against which four clappers are pounded by the action of the waves.

AUTOMATIC BUOYS

The whistle buoy at the left utilizes the motion of the waves to blow a whistle. The light buoy in the centre has an automatic light that burns gas stored in the body of the buoy. The bell buoy at the right carries a bell, against which four clappers are pounded by the action of the waves.

The whistling buoys and lighted buoys are, perhaps, the most interesting of the lot. Imagine a huge steel top, with a whistle placed at its point, and a large steel tube running through it from top to bottom, extending more than the height of the top above it. Imagine this top ten or twelvefeet in diameter, and, with the tube, forty feet in height. Imagine this, then, floating in the water, point up, and with the tube below the surface. The end of the tube below the water is open. The end on which the whistle is mounted contains two openings. In one of these the whistle is placed. The other opening is closed by a valve which permits air to enter, but closes when the air tries to escape. This buoy is anchored in the water, and as the waves toss it up and down they rise and fall in the lower part of the tube. As they rise the air inside is compressed and is blown through the whistle causing it to sound. As the water in the tube falls, air is drawn through the valve, and again the waves force it through the whistle. This ponderous but simple “whistling” buoy requires no supplies and almost no attention. Periodicallyit is visited by a tender and is temporarily relieved of work while it is taken to the repair shop to be examined, repaired, and painted. Aside from that it needs no attention, yet constantly it moans as the waves sweep under it, and the greater the waves the greater is the volume of its sound.

Bell buoys are equally simple and effective. These buoys are surmounted by a framework of steel from which a large bell is rigidly suspended. Several “clappers” are hinged about it so that, no matter how a wave may move the buoy, a clapper strikes the bell.

The light buoys are more complicated and more diverse. There are more than a dozen different sizes and shapes, and the fuel is usually compressed oil gas or compressed acetylene gas. The buoys themselves—that is, the floats—may be of almost any shape. Some are spherical, some cylindrical. Some are long and thin, and others short and fat, but each one has a framework or a shaft of steel extending from ten to twenty feet above it. At the top of this the light is fixed, while the body of the buoy holds the gas. These lights flash intermittently, the gas, which is under pressure, operating a valve while a tiny “pilot light” in the burner remains always burning in order to ignite the gas when it is turned on to cause each flash. Some of these buoys carry a supply of fuel great enough to last for three months, and during that time they flash their lights every few seconds without fail, marking a danger or a channel, and are visible, sometimes, from distances of several miles.

Thus the dangers of the sea are marked by lighthouses, lightships, and buoys, while harbour entrances and channels are marked as well. This has been done in order to save life and property and in order to expedite the passages of ships. No more do captains have to depend on guess and luck. Their accurate sextants and chronometers tell them wherethey are on the trackless sea. Their barometers tell them of approaching storms. Their compasses tell them their directions.

And men ashore have built great lights on wave-washed rocks and surf-pounded beaches, on mighty headlands and shoals of sand. Lightships mark the treacherous spots where lighthouses cannot be erected, and mark, as well, the entrances to many harbours around the world. And once past these the mariner is led into the shelter of the harbour between long lines of buoys, each telling him its message, each aiding him on his way. He rounds a rock in mid-channel unscathed, because a buoy anchored there tells him how to turn. He finds his anchorage because of other buoys, and perhaps he makes his ship fast to still another, and knows that once more the ocean has been crossed in safety and his voyage is ended.

Almost the whole of the surfaces of all the lands of earth bear the marks of man. Most people live their lives ashore amid nature that has been radically changed by man. Cities have been built, railroads flung across the land. Farms flourish and ploughs have turned up every inch of all their acres. A hundred years ago America was wild from the Alleghanies to the Pacific. Now one cannot cross it and be for more than a few minutes out of sight of signs of men.

But the ocean rolls ever on just as it rolled in prehistoric times. No mark that man has made has changed the sea. Yet, while man is unable to change one single thing about its solitary waste, he has marked its greater perils and has conquered it. The perils of the sea are growing ever less, and ships owe much of this to the lights that mark its danger spots.

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