Chapter Five.A Terrible Situation.There were four rooms and a lantern in Rudyerd’s lighthouse. The second room was that which was used most by John Potter and his mate Isaac Dorkin: it was the kitchen, dining room, and parlour, all in one. Immediately below it was the store-room, and just above it the dormitory.The general tenor of the life suited John exactly: he was a quiet-spirited, meditative, religious man; and, although quite willing to face difficulties, dangers, and troubles like a man, when required to do so, he did not see it to be his duty to thrust himself unnecessarily into these circumstances. There were plenty of men, he was wont to say, who loved bustle and excitement, and there were plenty of situations of that sort for them to fill; for his part, he loved peace and quiet; the Eddystone lighthouse offered both, and why should he not take advantage of the opportunity, especially when, by so doing, he would secure a pretty good and regular income for his wife and family.John gave vent to an opinion which contained deeper truths than, at that time, he thought of. God has given to men their varied powers and inclinations, in order that they may use these powers and follow these inclinations. Working rightly, man is a perfect machine: it is only “the fall” which has twisted all things awry. There is no sin in feeling an intense desire for violent physical action, or in gratifying that desire when we can do so in accordance with the revealed will of God; but there is sin in gratifying it in a wrong way; in committing burglary for instance, or in prize-fighting, or in helping others to fight in a cause with which we have no right to interfere. Again, it is not wrong to desire peace and quiet, and to wish for mental and spiritual and physical repose; but it is decidedly wrong to stand by with your hands in your pockets when an innocent or helpless one is being assaulted by ruffians; to sit quiet and do nothing when your neighbour’s house is on fire; to shirk an unpleasant duty and leave some one else to do it; or to lie a-bed when you should be up and at work.Allour powers were given to be used: our inclinations were intended to impel us incertaindirections, and God’s will and glory were meant to be our guide and aim. So the Scripture teaches, we think, in the parable of the talents, and in the words, “Whatsoeverthy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might;” and, “Whether, therefore, ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.”Our great fault lies in not consulting God’s plan of arrangement. How often do we find that, in adopting certain lines of action, men consult only the pecuniary or social advantage; ignoring powers, or want of powers, and violating inclinations; and this even among professing Christians; while, among the unbelieving, God’s will and glory are not thought of at all. And yet we wonder that so many well-laid plans miscarry, that so many promising young men and women “come to grief!” Forgetting that “the right man (or woman) in the right place” is an essential element in thorough success.But, to return to John Potter. His conscience was easy as to his duty in becoming a lightkeeper, and the lighthouse was all that he could wish, or had hoped for. There was no disturbance from without, for the thick walls and solid foundation defied winds or waves to trouble him; save only in the matter of smoke, which often had a strong tendency to traverse the chimney in the wrong direction, but that was not worth mentioning! John found, however, thatsinin the person of his mate marred his peace and destroyed his equanimity.Isaac Dorkin did not find the life so much to his taste as he had expected. He became more grumpy than ever, and quarrelled with his friend on the slightest provocation; insomuch that at last John found it to be his wisest plan to let him alone. Sometimes, in consequence of this pacific resolve, the two men would spend a whole month without uttering a word to each other; the one in the sulks, the other waiting until he should come out of them.Their duties were light,Their duties were light, but regular. During the day they found a sufficiency of quiet occupation in cooking their food, cleaning the lighting apparatus—which consisted of a framework full of tallow candles,—and in keeping the building clean and orderly. At night they kept watch, each four hours at a time, while the other slept. While watching, John read his Bible and several books which had been given to him by Mr Rudyerd; or, in fine weather, paced round and round the gallery, just outside the lantern, in profound meditation. Dorkin also, during his watches, meditated much; he likewise grumbled a good deal, and smoked continuously. He was not a bad fellow at bottom, however, and sometimes he and Potter got on very amicably. At such seasons John tried to draw his mate into religious talk, but without success. Thus, from day to day and year to year, these two men stuck to their post, until eleven years had passed away.One day, about the end of that period, John Potter, who, having attained to the age of fifty-two, was getting somewhat grey, though still in full strength and vigour, sat at his chimney corner beside his buxom and still blooming wife. His fireside was a better one than in days of yore,—thanks to Tommy, who had become a flourishing engineer: Mrs Potter’s costume was likewise much better in condition and quality than it used to be; thanks, again, to Tommy, who was a grateful and loving son.“Well, Martha, I’ve had a pleasant month ashore, lass: I wish that I hadn’t to go off on relief to-morrow.”“Why not leave it altogether, then, John? You’ve no occasion to continue a light-keeper now that you’ve laid by so much, and Tommy is so well off and able to help us, an’ willin’ too—God bless him!”“Amen to that, Martha. I have just bin thinkin’ over the matter, and I’ve made up my mind that this is to be my last trip off to the Rock. I spoke to the superintendent last week, and it’s all settled. Who d’ye think is to take my place?”“I never could guess nothink, John: who?”“Teddy Maroon: no less.”“What? an’ ’im a’ older man than yourself?”“Ah, but it ain’t the same Teddy. It’s his eldest son, named after himself; an’ so like what his father was when I last saw him, that I don’t think I’d be able to tell which was which.”“Well, John, I’m glad to ’ear it; an’ be sure that ye git ’ome, next relief before the thirty-first of October, for that’s Tommy’s wedding day, an’ you know we fixed it a purpose to suit your time of being at ’ome. A sweet pair they’ll make. Nora was born to be a lady: nobody would think but she is one, with ’er pretty winsome ways; and Tommy, who was twenty-five ’is very last birthday, is one of the ’andsomest men in Plymouth. I’ve a settled conviction, John, that he’ll live to be a great man.”“You once had a settled conviction that he would come to a bad end,” said Potter, with an arch smile.“Go along with you, John!” retorted Mrs Potter.“I’m just going,” said John, rising and kissing his wife as he put on his hat; “and you may depend on it that I’ll not miss dancing at our Tommy’s wedding, if I can help it.”That night saw John Potter at his old post again—snuffing the candles on the Eddystone, and chatting with his old mate Dorkin beside the kitchen fire. One evening towards the end of October, John Potter and Isaac, having “lighted up,” sat down to a game of draughts. It was blowing hard outside, and heavy breakers were bursting on the rock and sending thin spray as high as the lantern, but all was peace and comfort inside; even Isaac’s grumpy spirit was calmer than usual.“You seem dull to-night, mate,” observed John, as they re-arranged the pieces for another game.“I don’t feel very well,” said Dorkin, passing his hand over his brow languidly.“You’d better turn in, then; an’ I’ll take half of your watch as well as my own.”“Thank ’ee kindly,” said Dorkin in a subdued voice: “I’ll take yer advice. Perhaps,” he added slowly, “you’ll read me a bit out o’the Book.”This was the first time that Isaac had expressed a desire to touch on religious subjects, or to hear the Bible read; and John, you may be sure, was only too glad to comply. After his mate had lain down, he read a small portion; but, observing that he seemed very restless, he closed the Bible and contented himself with quoting the following words of our Lord Jesus: “Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;” and, “The blood of Jesus Christ God’s Son, cleanseth us from all sin.” Then in a sentence or two he prayed fervently that the Holy Spirit might apply these words.John had a suspicion that his mate was on the verge of a serious illness, and he was not wrong. Next day, Dorkin was stricken with a raging fever, and John Potter had not only to nurse him day and night, but to give constant attention to the lantern as well. Fortunately, the day after that the relief boat would be out, so he consoled himself with that thought; but the gale, which had been blowing for some days, increased that night until it blew a perfect hurricane. The sea round the Eddystone became a tremendous whirlpool of foam, and all hope of communication with the shore was cut off. Of course the unfortunate lighthouse-keeper hung out a signal of distress, although he knew full well that it could not be replied to.Meanwhile a wedding party assembled in Plymouth. The bride was blooming and young; the bridegroom—strong and happy; but there was a shade upon his brow as he approached a stout elderly female, and said, sadly, “I can’t tell you, mother, how grieved I am that father is not with us to-day. I would be quite willing to put it off, and so would Nora, for a few days, but there is no appearance of the storm abating; and, indeed, if even it stopped this moment, I don’t think the relief-boat could get off in less than a week.”“I know it, Tommy.” (It seemed ridiculous to call a strapping, curly-haired, bewhiskered, six-foot man “Tommy”!) “I know it, Tommy; but it ain’t of no use puttin’ of it off. I’ve always ’ad a settled conviction that anythink as is put off is as good as given up altogether. No, no, my son; go on with the weddin’.”So the wedding went on, and Nora Vining, a dark-haired Plymouth maiden, became Mrs Thomas Potter; and the breakfast was eaten, and the healths were drunk, and the speeches made, and Mrs Potter, senior, wept profusely (for joy) nearly all the time, into a white cotton handkerchief, which was so large and strong that some of the guests entertained the belief to the end of their lives that the worthy woman had had it manufactured for her own special use on that great occasion.Meanwhile the father, whose absence was regretted so much, and whose heart would have rejoiced so much to have been there, remained in his lonely dwelling, out among the mad whirlpools in the wildest past of the raging sea. All day, and every day, his signal of distress streamed horizontally in the furious gale, and fishermen stood on the shore and wondered what was wrong, and wished so earnestly that the gale would go down; but no one, not even the boldest among them all, imagined for a moment that a boat could venture to leave the shore, much less encounter the seething billows on the Eddystone. As each night drew on, one by one the lights glimmered out above the rock, until the bright beams of the fully illuminated lantern poured like a flood through the murky air, and then men went home to their firesides, relieved to know that, whatever might be wrong, the keepers were at all events able to attend to their important duties.Day after day Isaac Dorkin grew worse: he soon became delirious, and, strong though he was, John Potter was scarcely able to hold him down in bed. When the delirium first came on, John chanced to be in the lantern just commencing to light up. When he was about to apply the light, he heard a noise behind him, and, turning hastily round, beheld the flushed face and blazing eyes of his mate rising through the trap door that communicated with the rooms below. Leaving his work, John hastened to his friend, and with some difficulty persuaded him to return to his bed; but no sooner had he got him into it and covered him up, than a new paroxysm came on, and the sick man arose in the strength of his agony and hurled his friend to the other side of the apartment. John sprang up, and grappled with him while he was rushing towards the door. It was an awful struggle that ensued. Both were large and powerful men; the one strong in a resolute purpose to meet boldly a desperate case, the other mad with fever. They swayed to and fro, and fell on and smashed the homely furniture of the place; sometimes the one and sometimes the other prevailing, while both gasped for breath and panted vehemently; suddenly Dorkin sank down exhausted. He appeared to collapse, and John lifted him with difficulty again into his bed; but in a few seconds he attempted to renew the struggle, while the whole building was filled with his terrific cries.While this was going on, the shades of night had been falling fast, and John Potter remembered that none of the candles had been lit, and that in a few minutes more the rock would be a source of greater danger to shipping than if no lighthouse had been there, because vessels would be making for the light from all quarters of the world, in the full faith of its being kept up! Filled with horror at the thought that perhaps even at that moment vessels might be hurrying on to their doom, he seized a piece of rope that lay at hand, and managed to wind it so firmly round his mate as to render him helpless. Bounding back to the lantern, he quickly lighted it up, but did not feel his heart relieved until he had gazed out at the snowy billows below, and made sure that no vessel was in view. Then he took a long draught of water, wiped his brow, and returned to his friend.Two days after that Isaac Dorkin died. And now John Potter found himself in a more horrible situation than before. The storm continued: no sooner did one gale abate than another broke out, so as to render approach to the rock impossible; while, day after day, and night after night, the keeper had to pass the dead body of his mate several times in attending to the duties of the lantern. And still the signal of distress continued to fly from the lighthouse, and still the people on shore continued to wonder what was wrong, to long for moderate weather, and to feel relief when they saw the faithful light beam forth each evening at sunset.At last the corpse began to decay, and John felt that it was necessary to get rid of it, but he dared not venture to throw it into the sea. It was well known that Dorkin had been a quarrelsome man, and he feared that if he could not produce the body when the relief came, he might be deemed amurderer. He therefore let it lie until it became so overpoweringly offensive that the whole building, from foundation to cupola, was filled with the horrible stench. The feelings of the solitary man can neither be conceived nor described. Well was it for John that he had the Word of God in his hand, and the grace of God in his heart during that awful period.For nearly a month his agony lasted. At last the weather moderated. The boat came off; the “relief” was effected; and poor Dorkin’s body, which was in such a condition that it could not be carried on shore, was thrown into the sea. Then John Potter returned home, and left the lighthouse service for ever.From that time forward it has been the custom to station not fewer than three men at a time on all out-lying lighthouses of the kingdom.Note. Reader, we have not drawn here on our imagination. This story is founded on unquestionable fact.
There were four rooms and a lantern in Rudyerd’s lighthouse. The second room was that which was used most by John Potter and his mate Isaac Dorkin: it was the kitchen, dining room, and parlour, all in one. Immediately below it was the store-room, and just above it the dormitory.
The general tenor of the life suited John exactly: he was a quiet-spirited, meditative, religious man; and, although quite willing to face difficulties, dangers, and troubles like a man, when required to do so, he did not see it to be his duty to thrust himself unnecessarily into these circumstances. There were plenty of men, he was wont to say, who loved bustle and excitement, and there were plenty of situations of that sort for them to fill; for his part, he loved peace and quiet; the Eddystone lighthouse offered both, and why should he not take advantage of the opportunity, especially when, by so doing, he would secure a pretty good and regular income for his wife and family.
John gave vent to an opinion which contained deeper truths than, at that time, he thought of. God has given to men their varied powers and inclinations, in order that they may use these powers and follow these inclinations. Working rightly, man is a perfect machine: it is only “the fall” which has twisted all things awry. There is no sin in feeling an intense desire for violent physical action, or in gratifying that desire when we can do so in accordance with the revealed will of God; but there is sin in gratifying it in a wrong way; in committing burglary for instance, or in prize-fighting, or in helping others to fight in a cause with which we have no right to interfere. Again, it is not wrong to desire peace and quiet, and to wish for mental and spiritual and physical repose; but it is decidedly wrong to stand by with your hands in your pockets when an innocent or helpless one is being assaulted by ruffians; to sit quiet and do nothing when your neighbour’s house is on fire; to shirk an unpleasant duty and leave some one else to do it; or to lie a-bed when you should be up and at work.
Allour powers were given to be used: our inclinations were intended to impel us incertaindirections, and God’s will and glory were meant to be our guide and aim. So the Scripture teaches, we think, in the parable of the talents, and in the words, “Whatsoeverthy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might;” and, “Whether, therefore, ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.”
Our great fault lies in not consulting God’s plan of arrangement. How often do we find that, in adopting certain lines of action, men consult only the pecuniary or social advantage; ignoring powers, or want of powers, and violating inclinations; and this even among professing Christians; while, among the unbelieving, God’s will and glory are not thought of at all. And yet we wonder that so many well-laid plans miscarry, that so many promising young men and women “come to grief!” Forgetting that “the right man (or woman) in the right place” is an essential element in thorough success.
But, to return to John Potter. His conscience was easy as to his duty in becoming a lightkeeper, and the lighthouse was all that he could wish, or had hoped for. There was no disturbance from without, for the thick walls and solid foundation defied winds or waves to trouble him; save only in the matter of smoke, which often had a strong tendency to traverse the chimney in the wrong direction, but that was not worth mentioning! John found, however, thatsinin the person of his mate marred his peace and destroyed his equanimity.
Isaac Dorkin did not find the life so much to his taste as he had expected. He became more grumpy than ever, and quarrelled with his friend on the slightest provocation; insomuch that at last John found it to be his wisest plan to let him alone. Sometimes, in consequence of this pacific resolve, the two men would spend a whole month without uttering a word to each other; the one in the sulks, the other waiting until he should come out of them.
Their duties were light,Their duties were light, but regular. During the day they found a sufficiency of quiet occupation in cooking their food, cleaning the lighting apparatus—which consisted of a framework full of tallow candles,—and in keeping the building clean and orderly. At night they kept watch, each four hours at a time, while the other slept. While watching, John read his Bible and several books which had been given to him by Mr Rudyerd; or, in fine weather, paced round and round the gallery, just outside the lantern, in profound meditation. Dorkin also, during his watches, meditated much; he likewise grumbled a good deal, and smoked continuously. He was not a bad fellow at bottom, however, and sometimes he and Potter got on very amicably. At such seasons John tried to draw his mate into religious talk, but without success. Thus, from day to day and year to year, these two men stuck to their post, until eleven years had passed away.
One day, about the end of that period, John Potter, who, having attained to the age of fifty-two, was getting somewhat grey, though still in full strength and vigour, sat at his chimney corner beside his buxom and still blooming wife. His fireside was a better one than in days of yore,—thanks to Tommy, who had become a flourishing engineer: Mrs Potter’s costume was likewise much better in condition and quality than it used to be; thanks, again, to Tommy, who was a grateful and loving son.
“Well, Martha, I’ve had a pleasant month ashore, lass: I wish that I hadn’t to go off on relief to-morrow.”
“Why not leave it altogether, then, John? You’ve no occasion to continue a light-keeper now that you’ve laid by so much, and Tommy is so well off and able to help us, an’ willin’ too—God bless him!”
“Amen to that, Martha. I have just bin thinkin’ over the matter, and I’ve made up my mind that this is to be my last trip off to the Rock. I spoke to the superintendent last week, and it’s all settled. Who d’ye think is to take my place?”
“I never could guess nothink, John: who?”
“Teddy Maroon: no less.”
“What? an’ ’im a’ older man than yourself?”
“Ah, but it ain’t the same Teddy. It’s his eldest son, named after himself; an’ so like what his father was when I last saw him, that I don’t think I’d be able to tell which was which.”
“Well, John, I’m glad to ’ear it; an’ be sure that ye git ’ome, next relief before the thirty-first of October, for that’s Tommy’s wedding day, an’ you know we fixed it a purpose to suit your time of being at ’ome. A sweet pair they’ll make. Nora was born to be a lady: nobody would think but she is one, with ’er pretty winsome ways; and Tommy, who was twenty-five ’is very last birthday, is one of the ’andsomest men in Plymouth. I’ve a settled conviction, John, that he’ll live to be a great man.”
“You once had a settled conviction that he would come to a bad end,” said Potter, with an arch smile.
“Go along with you, John!” retorted Mrs Potter.
“I’m just going,” said John, rising and kissing his wife as he put on his hat; “and you may depend on it that I’ll not miss dancing at our Tommy’s wedding, if I can help it.”
That night saw John Potter at his old post again—snuffing the candles on the Eddystone, and chatting with his old mate Dorkin beside the kitchen fire. One evening towards the end of October, John Potter and Isaac, having “lighted up,” sat down to a game of draughts. It was blowing hard outside, and heavy breakers were bursting on the rock and sending thin spray as high as the lantern, but all was peace and comfort inside; even Isaac’s grumpy spirit was calmer than usual.
“You seem dull to-night, mate,” observed John, as they re-arranged the pieces for another game.
“I don’t feel very well,” said Dorkin, passing his hand over his brow languidly.
“You’d better turn in, then; an’ I’ll take half of your watch as well as my own.”
“Thank ’ee kindly,” said Dorkin in a subdued voice: “I’ll take yer advice. Perhaps,” he added slowly, “you’ll read me a bit out o’the Book.”
This was the first time that Isaac had expressed a desire to touch on religious subjects, or to hear the Bible read; and John, you may be sure, was only too glad to comply. After his mate had lain down, he read a small portion; but, observing that he seemed very restless, he closed the Bible and contented himself with quoting the following words of our Lord Jesus: “Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;” and, “The blood of Jesus Christ God’s Son, cleanseth us from all sin.” Then in a sentence or two he prayed fervently that the Holy Spirit might apply these words.
John had a suspicion that his mate was on the verge of a serious illness, and he was not wrong. Next day, Dorkin was stricken with a raging fever, and John Potter had not only to nurse him day and night, but to give constant attention to the lantern as well. Fortunately, the day after that the relief boat would be out, so he consoled himself with that thought; but the gale, which had been blowing for some days, increased that night until it blew a perfect hurricane. The sea round the Eddystone became a tremendous whirlpool of foam, and all hope of communication with the shore was cut off. Of course the unfortunate lighthouse-keeper hung out a signal of distress, although he knew full well that it could not be replied to.
Meanwhile a wedding party assembled in Plymouth. The bride was blooming and young; the bridegroom—strong and happy; but there was a shade upon his brow as he approached a stout elderly female, and said, sadly, “I can’t tell you, mother, how grieved I am that father is not with us to-day. I would be quite willing to put it off, and so would Nora, for a few days, but there is no appearance of the storm abating; and, indeed, if even it stopped this moment, I don’t think the relief-boat could get off in less than a week.”
“I know it, Tommy.” (It seemed ridiculous to call a strapping, curly-haired, bewhiskered, six-foot man “Tommy”!) “I know it, Tommy; but it ain’t of no use puttin’ of it off. I’ve always ’ad a settled conviction that anythink as is put off is as good as given up altogether. No, no, my son; go on with the weddin’.”
So the wedding went on, and Nora Vining, a dark-haired Plymouth maiden, became Mrs Thomas Potter; and the breakfast was eaten, and the healths were drunk, and the speeches made, and Mrs Potter, senior, wept profusely (for joy) nearly all the time, into a white cotton handkerchief, which was so large and strong that some of the guests entertained the belief to the end of their lives that the worthy woman had had it manufactured for her own special use on that great occasion.
Meanwhile the father, whose absence was regretted so much, and whose heart would have rejoiced so much to have been there, remained in his lonely dwelling, out among the mad whirlpools in the wildest past of the raging sea. All day, and every day, his signal of distress streamed horizontally in the furious gale, and fishermen stood on the shore and wondered what was wrong, and wished so earnestly that the gale would go down; but no one, not even the boldest among them all, imagined for a moment that a boat could venture to leave the shore, much less encounter the seething billows on the Eddystone. As each night drew on, one by one the lights glimmered out above the rock, until the bright beams of the fully illuminated lantern poured like a flood through the murky air, and then men went home to their firesides, relieved to know that, whatever might be wrong, the keepers were at all events able to attend to their important duties.
Day after day Isaac Dorkin grew worse: he soon became delirious, and, strong though he was, John Potter was scarcely able to hold him down in bed. When the delirium first came on, John chanced to be in the lantern just commencing to light up. When he was about to apply the light, he heard a noise behind him, and, turning hastily round, beheld the flushed face and blazing eyes of his mate rising through the trap door that communicated with the rooms below. Leaving his work, John hastened to his friend, and with some difficulty persuaded him to return to his bed; but no sooner had he got him into it and covered him up, than a new paroxysm came on, and the sick man arose in the strength of his agony and hurled his friend to the other side of the apartment. John sprang up, and grappled with him while he was rushing towards the door. It was an awful struggle that ensued. Both were large and powerful men; the one strong in a resolute purpose to meet boldly a desperate case, the other mad with fever. They swayed to and fro, and fell on and smashed the homely furniture of the place; sometimes the one and sometimes the other prevailing, while both gasped for breath and panted vehemently; suddenly Dorkin sank down exhausted. He appeared to collapse, and John lifted him with difficulty again into his bed; but in a few seconds he attempted to renew the struggle, while the whole building was filled with his terrific cries.
While this was going on, the shades of night had been falling fast, and John Potter remembered that none of the candles had been lit, and that in a few minutes more the rock would be a source of greater danger to shipping than if no lighthouse had been there, because vessels would be making for the light from all quarters of the world, in the full faith of its being kept up! Filled with horror at the thought that perhaps even at that moment vessels might be hurrying on to their doom, he seized a piece of rope that lay at hand, and managed to wind it so firmly round his mate as to render him helpless. Bounding back to the lantern, he quickly lighted it up, but did not feel his heart relieved until he had gazed out at the snowy billows below, and made sure that no vessel was in view. Then he took a long draught of water, wiped his brow, and returned to his friend.
Two days after that Isaac Dorkin died. And now John Potter found himself in a more horrible situation than before. The storm continued: no sooner did one gale abate than another broke out, so as to render approach to the rock impossible; while, day after day, and night after night, the keeper had to pass the dead body of his mate several times in attending to the duties of the lantern. And still the signal of distress continued to fly from the lighthouse, and still the people on shore continued to wonder what was wrong, to long for moderate weather, and to feel relief when they saw the faithful light beam forth each evening at sunset.
At last the corpse began to decay, and John felt that it was necessary to get rid of it, but he dared not venture to throw it into the sea. It was well known that Dorkin had been a quarrelsome man, and he feared that if he could not produce the body when the relief came, he might be deemed amurderer. He therefore let it lie until it became so overpoweringly offensive that the whole building, from foundation to cupola, was filled with the horrible stench. The feelings of the solitary man can neither be conceived nor described. Well was it for John that he had the Word of God in his hand, and the grace of God in his heart during that awful period.
For nearly a month his agony lasted. At last the weather moderated. The boat came off; the “relief” was effected; and poor Dorkin’s body, which was in such a condition that it could not be carried on shore, was thrown into the sea. Then John Potter returned home, and left the lighthouse service for ever.
From that time forward it has been the custom to station not fewer than three men at a time on all out-lying lighthouses of the kingdom.
Note. Reader, we have not drawn here on our imagination. This story is founded on unquestionable fact.
Chapter Six.The End of Rudyerd’s Lighthouse.Thirty-Four years passed away, and still Rudyerd’s lighthouse stood firm as the rock on which it was founded. True, during that period it had to undergo occasional repairs, because the timber uprights at the base, where exposed to the full violence of the waves, had become weather-worn, and required renewing in part; but this was only equivalent to a ship being overhauled and having some of her planks renewed. The main fabric of the lighthouse remained as sound and steadfast at the end of that long period as it was at the beginning, and it would in all probability have remained on the Eddystone Rock till the present day, had not a foe assailed it, whose nature was very different indeed from that with which it had been built to contend.The lighthouse was at this time in charge of Teddy Maroon: not the Teddy who had bewailed his fate so disconsolately in the French prison in days gone by, but his youngest son, who was now getting to be an elderly man. We may, however, relieve the mind of the sympathetic reader, by saying that Teddy, senior, was not dead. He was still alive and hearty; though bent nearly double with extreme age; and dwelt on the borders of one of the Irish bogs, at the head of an extensive colony of Maroons.One night Teddy the younger ascended to the lantern to trim the candles; he snuffed them all round and returned to the kitchen to have a pipe, his two mates being a-bed at the time. No one now knows how the thing happened, but certain it is that Teddy either dropped some of the burning snuff on the floor, or in some other way introduced more light into his lantern that night than it had ever been meant to contain, so that while he and his mates were smoking comfortably below, the lighthouse was smoking quietly, but ominously, above.On shore, late that night, an elderly gentleman stood looking out of the window of a charmingly situated cottage in the village of Cawsand Bay, near Plymouth, which commanded a magnificent prospect of the channel.“Father,” he said, turning to a very old man seated beside the fire, who, although shrunken and wrinkled and bald, was ruddy in complexion, and evidently in the enjoyment of a green old age, “Father, the lighthouse is beautifully bright to-night; shall I help you to the window to look at it?”“Yes, Tommy: I’m fond o’ the old light. It minds me of days gone by, when you and I were young, Martha.”The old man gave a chuckle as he looked across the hearthstone, where, in a chair similar to his own, sat a very stout and very deaf and very old lady, smoothing the head of her grandchild, a little girl, who was the youngest of a family of ten.Old Martha did not hear John Potter’s remark, but she saw his kindly smile, and nodded her head with much gravity in reply. Martha had grown intellectually slow when she partially lost her hearing, and although she was not sad she had evidently become solemn. An English Dictionary and the Bible were the only books that Martha would look at now. She did not use the former as a help to the understanding of the latter. No one knew why she was so partial to the dictionary; but as she not unfrequently had it on her knee upside down while poring over it, her grandchild, little Nora, took up the idea that she had resolved to devote the latter days of her life to learning to read backwards! Perhaps the fact that the dictionary had once belonged to her son James who was wrecked and drowned on the Norfolk coast, may have had something to do with it.With the aid of his son’s arm and a stick old John managed to hobble to the window.“It is very bright. Why, Tommy,” he exclaimed, with a start, “it’s too bright: the lighthouse must be on fire!”At that moment, “Tommy’s” wife, now “fat, fair, andfifty” (or thereabouts), entered the room hurriedly, exclaiming, “Oh, Tom, whatcanbe the matter with the lighthouse, I never saw it so bright before?”Tom, who had hastily placed his father in a chair, so that he could see the Eddystone, seized his hat, and exclaiming, “I’ll go and see, my dear,” ran out and proceeded to the shore.“What’s the matter?” cried Mrs Potter in a querulous voice, when little Nora rushed from her side.Nora, senior, went to her at once, and, bending down, said, in a musical voice that retained much of its clearness and all its former sweetness: “I fear that the lighthouse is on fire, grandma!”Mrs Potter gazed straight before her with vacant solemnity, and Nora, supposing that she had not heard, repeated the information.Still Mrs Potter made no reply; but, after a few moments, she turned her eyes on her daughter-in-law with owlish gravity, and said; “I knew it! I said long ago to your father, my dear, I had a settled conviction that that lighthouse would come to a bad end.”It did indeed appear as though old Martha’s prophecy were about to come true!Out at the lighthouse Teddy Maroon, having finished his pipe, went up to the lantern to trim the candles again. He had no sooner opened the hatch of the lantern than a dense cloud of smoke burst out. He shouted to his comrades, one of whom, Henry Hall, was old and not fit for much violent exertion; the other, James Wilkie, was a young man, but a heavy sleeper. They could not be roused as quickly as the occasion demanded. Teddy ran to the store-room for a leathern bucket, but before he could descend to the rock, fill it and re-ascend, the flames had got a firm hold of the cupola. He dashed the water into the lantern just as his horrified comrades appeared.“Fetch bucketfulls as fast as ye can. Och, be smart, boys, if iver ye was,” he shouted, while perspiration streamed down his face. Pulling off his coat, while his mates ran down for water, Teddy dashed wildly into the lantern, and, holding the coat by its arms, laid about him violently, but smoke and fire drove him but almost immediately. The buckets were long of coming, and when they did arrive, their contents were as nothing on the glowing cupola. Then Teddy went out on the balcony and endeavoured to throw the water up, but the height was too great. While he was doing this, Wilkie ran down for more water, but Hall stood gazing upwards, open-mouthed with horror, at the raging flames. At that moment the leaden covering of the roof melted, and rushed down on Hall’s head and shoulders. He fell, with a loud shriek. While Teddy tried to drag him down to the room below, he exclaimed that some of the melted lead had gone down his throat! He was terribly burned about the neck, but his comrades had to leave him in his bed while they strove wildly to check the flames. It was all in vain. The wood-work around the lantern, from years of exposure to the heat of twenty-four large candles burning at once, had become like tinder, and the fire became so fierce that the timber courses composing the top of the column soon caught. Then the keepers saw that any further efforts would be useless. The great exertions made to carry up even a few bucketsfull of water soon exhausted their strength, and they were driven from room to room as the fire descended. At last the heat and smoke became so intense that they were driven out of the lighthouse altogether, and sought shelter in a cavern or hollow under the ladder, on the east side of the rock. Fortunately it was low water at the time, and the weather was calm. Had it been otherwise, the rock would have been no place of refuge.Meanwhile Mr Thomas Potter (our old friend Tommy—now, as we have said an elderly gentleman) went off in a large boat with a crew of stout fishermen from Cawsand Bay, having a smaller boat in tow. When they reached the rock, a terrific spectacle was witnessed. The lighthouse was enveloped in flames nearly to the bottom, for the outside planking, being caulked and covered with pitch, was very inflammable. The top glowed against the dark sky and looked in the midst of the smoke like a fiery meteor. The Eddystone Rock was suffused with a dull red light, as if it were becoming red hot, and the surf round it appeared to hiss against the fire, while in the dark shadow of the cave the three lighthouse keepers were seen cowering in terror,—as they well might, seeing that melted lead and flaming masses of wood and other substances were falling thickly round them.To get them out of their dangerous position was a matter of extreme difficulty, because, although there was little or no wind, the swell caused a surf on the rock which absolutely forbade the attempt to land. In this emergency they fell upon a plan which seemed to afford some hope of success. They anchored the large boat to the westward, and veered down towards the rock as far as they dared venture. Then three men went into the small boat, which was eased off and sent farther in by means of a rope. When as near as it was possible to approach, a coil of rope was thrown to the rock. It was caught by Teddy Maroon, and although in extreme danger and anxiety, the men in the boat could not help giving vent to a ringing cheer. Teddy at once tied the end of the rope round the waist of old Henry Hall, and half persuaded, half forced him into the surf, through which he was hauled into the boat in safety. Wilkie went next, and Teddy followed. Thus they were rescued, put on board the large boat, and carried on shore; but no sooner did the keel grate on the sand, than Wilkie, who had never spoken a word, and who appeared half stupefied, bounded on shore and ran off at full speed. It is a curious fact, which no one has ever been able to account for, that this man was never more heard of! As it is quite certain that he did not cause the fire, and also that he did his utmost to subdue it, the only conclusion that could be come to was, that the excitement and terror had driven him mad. At all events that was the last of him.Another curious fact connected with the fire is, that Henry Hall actually did swallow a quantity of melted lead. He lingered for twelve days after the accident, and then died. Afterwards his body was opened, and an oval lump of lead, which weighed upwards of seven ounces, was found in his stomach. This extraordinary fact is authenticated by the credible testimony of a respectable medical man and several eye-witnesses.Meanwhile, the lighthouse continued to burn, despite the most strenuous efforts made to save it. Had a storm arisen, the seas would speedily have quenched the fire, but unfortunately the weather continued fine and comparatively calm for several days, while the wind was just strong enough to fan the fury of the flames, and at the same time to cause a surf sufficiently high to render a landing on the rock impossible. But, indeed, even if this had been effected, the efforts that could have been made with the small fire-engines at that time in use, would have been utterly useless. The fire gradually descended to the different courses of solid timber, the well-hole of the staircase assisting the draught, and the outside timbers and inside mast, or wooden core, forming a double connecting link whereby the devouring element was carried to the very bottom of the building, with a heat so intense that the courses of Cornish moor-stone were made red hot.Admiral West, with part of the fleet, happened to be at that time in Plymouth Sound. He at once sent a sloop with a fire-engine to the rock. They attempted to land in a boat, but could not. So violent was the surf, that the boat was at one time thrown bodily upon the rock by one wave and swept off again by the next. The escape on this occasion was almost miraculous, the men therefore did not venture to make another attempt, but contented themselves with endeavouring to work the engine from the boat, in doing which they broke it, and thus all hope of doing anything further was gone. But indeed the engine they had would have availed nothing, even though it had been twice as powerful, against such a mighty conflagration. As well might they have tried to extinguish Vesuvius with a tea-kettle!For four days and nights did that massive pillar of fire burn. At last it fell in ruins before the most irresistible element with which man or matter has to contend, after having braved the fury of the winds and waves for nearly half a century.Thus perished the second lighthouse that was built on the Eddystone Rock, in December of the year 1755, and thus, once again, were those black reefs left unguarded. Once more that dread of mariners, ancient and modern, became a trap on the south coast of England—a trap now rendered doubly dangerous by the fact that, for so long a period, ships had been accustomed to make for it instead of avoiding it, in the full expectation of receiving timely warning from its friendly light.
Thirty-Four years passed away, and still Rudyerd’s lighthouse stood firm as the rock on which it was founded. True, during that period it had to undergo occasional repairs, because the timber uprights at the base, where exposed to the full violence of the waves, had become weather-worn, and required renewing in part; but this was only equivalent to a ship being overhauled and having some of her planks renewed. The main fabric of the lighthouse remained as sound and steadfast at the end of that long period as it was at the beginning, and it would in all probability have remained on the Eddystone Rock till the present day, had not a foe assailed it, whose nature was very different indeed from that with which it had been built to contend.
The lighthouse was at this time in charge of Teddy Maroon: not the Teddy who had bewailed his fate so disconsolately in the French prison in days gone by, but his youngest son, who was now getting to be an elderly man. We may, however, relieve the mind of the sympathetic reader, by saying that Teddy, senior, was not dead. He was still alive and hearty; though bent nearly double with extreme age; and dwelt on the borders of one of the Irish bogs, at the head of an extensive colony of Maroons.
One night Teddy the younger ascended to the lantern to trim the candles; he snuffed them all round and returned to the kitchen to have a pipe, his two mates being a-bed at the time. No one now knows how the thing happened, but certain it is that Teddy either dropped some of the burning snuff on the floor, or in some other way introduced more light into his lantern that night than it had ever been meant to contain, so that while he and his mates were smoking comfortably below, the lighthouse was smoking quietly, but ominously, above.
On shore, late that night, an elderly gentleman stood looking out of the window of a charmingly situated cottage in the village of Cawsand Bay, near Plymouth, which commanded a magnificent prospect of the channel.
“Father,” he said, turning to a very old man seated beside the fire, who, although shrunken and wrinkled and bald, was ruddy in complexion, and evidently in the enjoyment of a green old age, “Father, the lighthouse is beautifully bright to-night; shall I help you to the window to look at it?”
“Yes, Tommy: I’m fond o’ the old light. It minds me of days gone by, when you and I were young, Martha.”
The old man gave a chuckle as he looked across the hearthstone, where, in a chair similar to his own, sat a very stout and very deaf and very old lady, smoothing the head of her grandchild, a little girl, who was the youngest of a family of ten.
Old Martha did not hear John Potter’s remark, but she saw his kindly smile, and nodded her head with much gravity in reply. Martha had grown intellectually slow when she partially lost her hearing, and although she was not sad she had evidently become solemn. An English Dictionary and the Bible were the only books that Martha would look at now. She did not use the former as a help to the understanding of the latter. No one knew why she was so partial to the dictionary; but as she not unfrequently had it on her knee upside down while poring over it, her grandchild, little Nora, took up the idea that she had resolved to devote the latter days of her life to learning to read backwards! Perhaps the fact that the dictionary had once belonged to her son James who was wrecked and drowned on the Norfolk coast, may have had something to do with it.
With the aid of his son’s arm and a stick old John managed to hobble to the window.
“It is very bright. Why, Tommy,” he exclaimed, with a start, “it’s too bright: the lighthouse must be on fire!”
At that moment, “Tommy’s” wife, now “fat, fair, andfifty” (or thereabouts), entered the room hurriedly, exclaiming, “Oh, Tom, whatcanbe the matter with the lighthouse, I never saw it so bright before?”
Tom, who had hastily placed his father in a chair, so that he could see the Eddystone, seized his hat, and exclaiming, “I’ll go and see, my dear,” ran out and proceeded to the shore.
“What’s the matter?” cried Mrs Potter in a querulous voice, when little Nora rushed from her side.
Nora, senior, went to her at once, and, bending down, said, in a musical voice that retained much of its clearness and all its former sweetness: “I fear that the lighthouse is on fire, grandma!”
Mrs Potter gazed straight before her with vacant solemnity, and Nora, supposing that she had not heard, repeated the information.
Still Mrs Potter made no reply; but, after a few moments, she turned her eyes on her daughter-in-law with owlish gravity, and said; “I knew it! I said long ago to your father, my dear, I had a settled conviction that that lighthouse would come to a bad end.”
It did indeed appear as though old Martha’s prophecy were about to come true!
Out at the lighthouse Teddy Maroon, having finished his pipe, went up to the lantern to trim the candles again. He had no sooner opened the hatch of the lantern than a dense cloud of smoke burst out. He shouted to his comrades, one of whom, Henry Hall, was old and not fit for much violent exertion; the other, James Wilkie, was a young man, but a heavy sleeper. They could not be roused as quickly as the occasion demanded. Teddy ran to the store-room for a leathern bucket, but before he could descend to the rock, fill it and re-ascend, the flames had got a firm hold of the cupola. He dashed the water into the lantern just as his horrified comrades appeared.
“Fetch bucketfulls as fast as ye can. Och, be smart, boys, if iver ye was,” he shouted, while perspiration streamed down his face. Pulling off his coat, while his mates ran down for water, Teddy dashed wildly into the lantern, and, holding the coat by its arms, laid about him violently, but smoke and fire drove him but almost immediately. The buckets were long of coming, and when they did arrive, their contents were as nothing on the glowing cupola. Then Teddy went out on the balcony and endeavoured to throw the water up, but the height was too great. While he was doing this, Wilkie ran down for more water, but Hall stood gazing upwards, open-mouthed with horror, at the raging flames. At that moment the leaden covering of the roof melted, and rushed down on Hall’s head and shoulders. He fell, with a loud shriek. While Teddy tried to drag him down to the room below, he exclaimed that some of the melted lead had gone down his throat! He was terribly burned about the neck, but his comrades had to leave him in his bed while they strove wildly to check the flames. It was all in vain. The wood-work around the lantern, from years of exposure to the heat of twenty-four large candles burning at once, had become like tinder, and the fire became so fierce that the timber courses composing the top of the column soon caught. Then the keepers saw that any further efforts would be useless. The great exertions made to carry up even a few bucketsfull of water soon exhausted their strength, and they were driven from room to room as the fire descended. At last the heat and smoke became so intense that they were driven out of the lighthouse altogether, and sought shelter in a cavern or hollow under the ladder, on the east side of the rock. Fortunately it was low water at the time, and the weather was calm. Had it been otherwise, the rock would have been no place of refuge.
Meanwhile Mr Thomas Potter (our old friend Tommy—now, as we have said an elderly gentleman) went off in a large boat with a crew of stout fishermen from Cawsand Bay, having a smaller boat in tow. When they reached the rock, a terrific spectacle was witnessed. The lighthouse was enveloped in flames nearly to the bottom, for the outside planking, being caulked and covered with pitch, was very inflammable. The top glowed against the dark sky and looked in the midst of the smoke like a fiery meteor. The Eddystone Rock was suffused with a dull red light, as if it were becoming red hot, and the surf round it appeared to hiss against the fire, while in the dark shadow of the cave the three lighthouse keepers were seen cowering in terror,—as they well might, seeing that melted lead and flaming masses of wood and other substances were falling thickly round them.
To get them out of their dangerous position was a matter of extreme difficulty, because, although there was little or no wind, the swell caused a surf on the rock which absolutely forbade the attempt to land. In this emergency they fell upon a plan which seemed to afford some hope of success. They anchored the large boat to the westward, and veered down towards the rock as far as they dared venture. Then three men went into the small boat, which was eased off and sent farther in by means of a rope. When as near as it was possible to approach, a coil of rope was thrown to the rock. It was caught by Teddy Maroon, and although in extreme danger and anxiety, the men in the boat could not help giving vent to a ringing cheer. Teddy at once tied the end of the rope round the waist of old Henry Hall, and half persuaded, half forced him into the surf, through which he was hauled into the boat in safety. Wilkie went next, and Teddy followed. Thus they were rescued, put on board the large boat, and carried on shore; but no sooner did the keel grate on the sand, than Wilkie, who had never spoken a word, and who appeared half stupefied, bounded on shore and ran off at full speed. It is a curious fact, which no one has ever been able to account for, that this man was never more heard of! As it is quite certain that he did not cause the fire, and also that he did his utmost to subdue it, the only conclusion that could be come to was, that the excitement and terror had driven him mad. At all events that was the last of him.
Another curious fact connected with the fire is, that Henry Hall actually did swallow a quantity of melted lead. He lingered for twelve days after the accident, and then died. Afterwards his body was opened, and an oval lump of lead, which weighed upwards of seven ounces, was found in his stomach. This extraordinary fact is authenticated by the credible testimony of a respectable medical man and several eye-witnesses.
Meanwhile, the lighthouse continued to burn, despite the most strenuous efforts made to save it. Had a storm arisen, the seas would speedily have quenched the fire, but unfortunately the weather continued fine and comparatively calm for several days, while the wind was just strong enough to fan the fury of the flames, and at the same time to cause a surf sufficiently high to render a landing on the rock impossible. But, indeed, even if this had been effected, the efforts that could have been made with the small fire-engines at that time in use, would have been utterly useless. The fire gradually descended to the different courses of solid timber, the well-hole of the staircase assisting the draught, and the outside timbers and inside mast, or wooden core, forming a double connecting link whereby the devouring element was carried to the very bottom of the building, with a heat so intense that the courses of Cornish moor-stone were made red hot.
Admiral West, with part of the fleet, happened to be at that time in Plymouth Sound. He at once sent a sloop with a fire-engine to the rock. They attempted to land in a boat, but could not. So violent was the surf, that the boat was at one time thrown bodily upon the rock by one wave and swept off again by the next. The escape on this occasion was almost miraculous, the men therefore did not venture to make another attempt, but contented themselves with endeavouring to work the engine from the boat, in doing which they broke it, and thus all hope of doing anything further was gone. But indeed the engine they had would have availed nothing, even though it had been twice as powerful, against such a mighty conflagration. As well might they have tried to extinguish Vesuvius with a tea-kettle!
For four days and nights did that massive pillar of fire burn. At last it fell in ruins before the most irresistible element with which man or matter has to contend, after having braved the fury of the winds and waves for nearly half a century.
Thus perished the second lighthouse that was built on the Eddystone Rock, in December of the year 1755, and thus, once again, were those black reefs left unguarded. Once more that dread of mariners, ancient and modern, became a trap on the south coast of England—a trap now rendered doubly dangerous by the fact that, for so long a period, ships had been accustomed to make for it instead of avoiding it, in the full expectation of receiving timely warning from its friendly light.
Chapter Seven.Old Friends In New Circumstances.We open the story of the third, and still existing, lighthouse on the Eddystone with the re-introduction of Teddy Maroon—that Teddy who acted so prominent a part at the burning of Rudyerd’s tower in December 1755.Men’s activities seem to have been quickened at this period of time, for only about six months were allowed to elapse between the destruction of the old and the commencement of operations for the new lighthouse.It was a calm evening in the autumn 1756 when Teddy Maroon, smoking a little black pipe, sauntered towards the residence of old John Potter. On reaching the door he extinguished the little pipe by the summary process of thrusting the point of his blunt forefinger into the bowl, and deposited it hot in his vest pocket. His tap was answered by a small servant girl, with a very red and ragged head of hair, who ushered him into the presence of the aged couple. They were seated in the two chairs—one on each side of the fireplace—which they might almost be said to inhabit. Little Nora was stirring a few embers of coal into a cheery flame, for she knew the old people loved the sight of the fire even in summer. On a chair beside old Martha lay the open Bible, from which Nora had been reading, and on old Martha’s knee was the valued dictionary, upside down as usual.“Glad to see you, lad,” said old John, with a pleasant smile as he extended his hand; “it does us good to see you; it minds us so of old times.”“Ah, then, I’ve got to tell ’ee what’ll mind you more of owld times than the mere sight o’ me face,” said Teddy, as he patted old Martha on the shoulder and sat down beside her. “How are ’ee, owld ooman?”“Ay,” replied Martha in a tremulous voice, “you’re uncommon like your father—as like as two peas.”“Faix, av ye saw the dear owld gintleman now,” said Teddy with a laugh, “ye’d think there was a difference. Hows’ever, its o’ no use repaitin’ me question, for any man could see that you’re in the best o’ health—you’re bloomin’ like a cabbage rose.”The latter part of this complimentary speech was shouted into old Martha’s ear, and she responded by shaking her head and desiring the flatterer to “go along.”“Well, John,” said the visitor, turning to his father’s old friend, “you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve been engaged to work at the new lighthouse, an’, moreover we’ve got fairly begun.”“Youdon’tsay so,” cried John Potter, with some of the old fire sparkling in his eyes; “well, now, that is pleasant noos. Why, it makes me a’most wish to be young again. Of course I heard that they’ve bin hard at the preparations for a good while; but few people comes to see me now; they think I’m too old to be interested in anything; I suppose; an’ I didn’t know that it was fairly begun, or that you were on the work: I’d like to hear what your old father would say to it, Teddy.”“I don’t know what he’d say to it,” responded the Irishman, “but I know what he threatens to do, for I wrote him the other day tellin’ him all about it, an’ he bade my sister Kathleen write back that he’s more nor half a mind to come and superintend the operations.”“What is it all about, Nora?” demanded old Martha, who had been gazing intently at her husband’s countenance during the conversation.Nora put her pretty lips to her grandmother’s ear and gave the desired information, whereupon the old lady looked solemnly at her spouse, and laying her hand on the dictionary, said, with strong though quivering emphasis: “now, John, mark my words, I ’ave a settled conviction that that light’ouse will come to a bad end. It’s sure to be burnt or blow’d over.”Having given vent to which prophecy, she relapsed into herself and appeared to ruminate on it with peculiar satisfaction.“And what’s the name of the architect?” demanded John.“Smeaton,” replied Teddy Maroon.“Never heerd of ’im before,” returned John.“No more did I,” said Teddy.The two friends appeared to find food for meditation in this point of ignorance, for they fell into a state of silence for a few minutes, which was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr Thomas Potter. He looked a little wearied as he sat down beside his mother, whose face lighted up with an expression of intense delight as she said, “Come away, Tommy, where have you been, my boy?”“I’ve been out on the sea, mother, after mischief as usual,” replied Tommy, whose bald head and wrinkled brow repudiated, while his open hearty smile appeared to justify, the juvenile name.“What! they ’aven’t engaged you on the noo light’ouse, ’ave they?” said old Martha, in horror.“No, no, mother, don’t fear that,” said her son, hastening to relieve her mind, “but you know the new engineer is gathering information from all quarters, and he naturally applied to me, because I am of his own profession and have known and studied the rock since I was a little boy.”“Know’d an’ studied it,” exclaimed Martha with more than her wonted vigour, “ay, an’ if you’d said you’d a’most broke your old mother’s heart with it, you’d ’ave said no more than the truth, Tommy. It’s a wonder as that rock hasn’t brought me to a prematoor grave. However, it ain’t likely to do so now, an’ I’m glad they have not inveigled you into it, my boy; for it’s an awful place for wettin’ of your feet an’ dirt’in’ of your hands and pinafores, an’—”The old lady, relapsing here into early reminiscences, once more retired within herself, while. Teddy Maroon and John Potter, mentioning their ignorance as to the architect who had undertaken the great work, demanded of “Mister Thomas” if he could enlighten them.“Of course I can,” he replied, “for he is well known to his friends as a most able man, and will become better known to the world, if I may venture to prophesy, as the builder of what is sure to be the most famous lighthouse on the English coast. His name is Smeaton, and he is not an engineer.”“Not an engineer?” echoed Teddy and old John, in surprise.“No, he’s a mathematical instrument maker.”“Well now,” said John Potter, gazing meditatively into the fireplace where Nora had evoked a tiny flame, “that is strange. This Eddystun Rock seems to have what I may call a pecooliar destiny. The builder of the first light’ouse was a country gentleman; of the second, a silk-mercer; and now, as you say, the third is to be put up by a maker o’ mathymatical instruments. I only hope,” continued John, shaking his head gravely at the fireplace, “that he won’t make a mess of it like the others did.”“Come now, father,” returned his son, “don’t say that the others made a mess of it. We must remember that Winstanley began his building in what we may call total darkness. No other man before him had attempted such a work, so that he had no predecessor whose good points he might imitate, or whose failures he might avoid. Many a trained engineer might have made a worse mess of it, and, to my mind, it says much for poor Winstanley’s capacity, all things considered, that his lighthouse stood so long as the six or seven years of its building. Then as to Rudyerd’s one, it was in reality a great success. It stood firm for nigh fifty years, and, but for the fire, might have stood for any number of years to come. It cannot be justly said that he made a mess of it. As well might you say that the builders of a first-rate ship made a mess of it because someone set her alight after she had sailed the ocean for half a century.”“True, Tommy, true,” said old John, nodding acquiescence emphatically. On seeing this, old Martha, knowing nothing about the matter because of her deafness, nodded emphatically also, and said, “that’s so, Tommy, I always ’ad a settled conviction that you was right, except,” she added, as if to guard herself, “except w’en you was after mischief.”“Well, but Tommy,” continued old John, “you was agoin’ to tell us somethin’ about this Mister Smeaton. What sort of a man is he?”“As far as I can judge, on short acquaintance,” replied Potter, “he seems to be a man who has got a mind and a will of his own, and looks like one who won’t be turned out of his straight course by trifles. His name is John, which is a good bible name, besides being yours, father, and he comes from Leeds, a highly respectable place, which has produced men of note before now. His age is thirty-two, which is about the most vigorous period of a man’s life, and he has come to his present business in spite of all opposition, a fact which is favourable to the prospects of the lighthouse. In short he’s a natural genius, and a born engineer. His father, an attorney, wished him to follow his own profession, but it was soon clear that that was out of the question, for the boy’s whole soul was steeped from earliest childhood in mechanics.”“I once knew a boy,” said John Potter, with a smile, “whose whole soul was steeped in the same thing!”“And in mischief,” added old Martha, suddenly, much to every one’s surprise. The old woman’s deafness was indeed of a strangely intermittent type!“Well,” continued Potter, with a laugh and a nod to his mother, “no doubt Smeaton had a spice of mischief in him among other qualities, for it is said of him that when quite a little fellow he made a force pump, with which he emptied his father’s fish-pond of water, to the detriment, not to say consternation, of the fish. The upshot of it all was that the lad was apprenticed to a maker of mathematical instruments, and soon proved himself to be an inventive genius of considerable power. Ere long he commenced business on his own account, and has now undertaken the task of building thethirdlighthouse on the Eddystone. I was in London lately, and saw the beautiful models of the intended structure which Smeaton has made with his own hands, and it seems to me that he’s just the man to do the work.”At the mention of models, old John Potter’s eyes lighted up, for it brought the memory of former days vividly before him.“He means to build it of stone,” said the son.“Stone, say ’ee? that’s right, Tommy, that’s right,” said old John, with a nod of strong approval, “I’ve always thought that the weak point in the old light’ouses waswant of weight. On such a slope of a foundation, you know, it requires great weight to prevent the seas washin’ a lighthouse clean away.”“I’ve thought the same thing, father, but what you and I only thought of Smeaton has stated, and intends to act upon. He means to build a tower so solid that it will defy the utmost fury of winds and waves. He is going to cut the sloping foundation into a series of steps or shelves, which will prevent the possibility of slipping. The shape of the building is to be something like the trunk of an oak tree, with a wider base than the lighthouse of Rudyerd. The first twenty feet or so of it is to be built solid; each stone to be made in the shape of a dovetail, and all the stones circling round a central key to which they will cling, as well as to each other, besides being held by bolts and cement, so that the lower part of the building will be as firm as the rock on which it stands. But I daresay, father,” continued his son, with a glance at Teddy Maroon, “our friend here, being engaged on the work, has told you all about this already.”“Not I,” said Maroon, quickly, “I’ve bin too busy to come here until to-day, and though I’ve got me own notions o’ what Mr Smeaton intends, by obsarvin’ what’s goin’ on, I han’t guessed the quarter o’ what you’ve towld me, sur. Howsever, I can spake to what’s bin already done. You must know,” said Teddy, with a great affectation of being particular, “Mr Smeaton has wisely secured his workmen by howldin’ out pleasant prospects to ’em. In the first place, we’ve got good regular wages, an’ additional pay whin we’re on the Rock. In the second place, extra work on shore is paid for over an’ above the fixed wages. In the third place, each man has got his appinted dooty, an’s kep close at it. In the fourth place, the rules is uncommon stringent, and instant dismissal follers the breakin’ of ’em. In the fifth place—”“Never mind the fifth place, Teddy,” interrupted old John, “like yer father, ye was ever too fond o’ waggin’ yer tongue. Just tell us straight off, if ye can, what’s been already done at the Rock.”“Well, well,” said Maroon, with a deprecatory smile, “owld father an’ me’s always bin misonderstud more or less; but no matter. Av coorse we’ve had the usual difficulties to fight agin, for the owld Eddystone Rock ain’t agoin’ to change its natur to please nobody. As me father described it inhisday, so I finds it in mine. On most of our first visits we got wet skins; but little or no work done, for though it might be ever so calm here at Plymouth, it always seemed to be blowin’ a private gale out at the Rock—leastwise, av it warn’t blowin’, there was swell enough most days to make the landin’ troublesome. So we got wan hour’s work at wan time, an’ two hours, or may be three, at another, off an’ on. As the saison advanced we got on better, sometimes got five and six hours on the Rock right on ind, and whin the tide sarved we wint at it by torch-light. Wan week we got no less than sixty-four an’ a half hours on it, an’ we was all in great sperrits intirely over that, for you see, mister Potter, we’re all picked men an’ takes a pride in the work—to say nothin’ of havin’ a good master. Av coorse we’ve had the usual botherations wid the sharp rocks cuttin’ the cable of our attendin’-sloop, an’ gales suddinly gettin’ up whin we was at the Rock wantin’ to land, as well as suddinly goin’ down whin we wasn’t at the Rock, so that we missed our chances. But such sorrows was what we expicted, more or less. The wust disappointment we’ve had has bin wi’ the noo store-ship, theNeptune Buss. I wish it was the Neptunebu’st, I do, for it’s wus than a tub, an’ gives us more trouble than it’s all worth. Now the saison’s drawin’ to a close, it’s clear that we’ll do no more this year than cut the foundations.”“An’ that’s not a bad season’s work, lad,” said old John. “Ain’t it not, Tommy?”“Not bad, indeed, father, for there are always unusual and vexatious delays at the beginning of a great work; besides, some of the greatest difficulties in connexion with such buildings are encountered in the preparation of the foundations. I suppose Mr Smeaton means to dress the stones on shore, ready for laying?” continued Potter the younger, turning to Maroon, who had risen and was buttoning up his monkey-jacket.“Why, yes sur, haven’t you bin down at the yard?”“Not yet. I’ve only just arrived in town; and must be off again to-morrow. You can’t think how disappointed I am at being prevented by business from taking part in the building of the new lighthouse—”“What’s that you say, Tommy?” interrupted old Martha, putting her hand to her ear and wrinkling her brow interrogatively.“That I’m grieved, mother, at not being able to help in building the new lighthouse,” shouted her son, in a voice that might have split an ordinary ear.Old Martha’s visage relaxed into a faint smile as she turned towards the fire and looked earnestly at it, as if for explanation or consolation.“Ay ay,” she muttered, “it would have bin strange if you hadn’t wished that; you was always up to mischief, Tommy; always; or else wishin’ to be up to it, although you might know as well as I know myself, that if you did get leave to go hout to the Rock (which you’re for ever wantin’ to do), it would be wet feet an dirty pinafores mornin’, noon, an’ night, which it’s little you care for that, you bad boy, though it causes me no end of washin’ an’ dryin’,—ay ay!”The old woman looked up in the smiling countenance of her stalwart son, and becoming apparently a little confused by reminiscences of the past and evidences of the present, retired within herself and relapsed into silence.“Well, sur,” continued Teddy, “just give a look down if you can; it’s worth your while. Mr Smeaton means to have every stone cut in the yard here on shore, and to lay down each ‘course’ in the yard too, to be sure that it all fits, for we’ll have no time out at the Rock to correct mistakes or make alterations. It’ll be ‘sharp’s the word, boys, and look alive O!’ all through; ship the stones; off to the Rock; land ’em in hot haste; clap on the cement; down wi’ the blocks; work like blazes—or Irishmen, which is much the same thing; make all fast into the boats again; sailors shoutin’ ‘Look alive, me hearties! squall bearin’ down right abaft of the lee stuns’l gangway!’—or somethin’ like that; up sail, an’ hooroo! boys, for the land, weather permittin’; if not, out to say an’ take things aisy, or av ye can’t be aisy, be as aisy as ye can!”“A pleasant prospect, truly,” said Mr T. Potter, laughing, as he shook the Irishman’s horny hand.“Good-bye, John. Good-bye, Nora, me darlin’; Good-bye, owld ooman.”“Hold your noise, lad,” said old Martha, looking gravely into her visitor’s face.“That’s just what I manes to do, mavoorneen,” replied Teddy Maroon, with a pleasant nod, “for I’ll be off to the Rock to-morrow by day-break, weather permittin’, an’ it’s little help any noise from me would give to the waves that kape gallivantin’ wid the reefs out there like mad things, from Sunday to Saturday, all the year round.”When the door shut on the noisy Irishman, it seemed as though one of the profound calms so much needed and desired out at the Eddystone Rock had settled down in old John Potter’s home—a calm which was not broken for some minutes thereafter except by old Martha muttering softly once or twice, while she gravely shook her head: “Hold your noise, Teddy, hold your noise, lad; you’re very like your father; hold your noise!”
We open the story of the third, and still existing, lighthouse on the Eddystone with the re-introduction of Teddy Maroon—that Teddy who acted so prominent a part at the burning of Rudyerd’s tower in December 1755.
Men’s activities seem to have been quickened at this period of time, for only about six months were allowed to elapse between the destruction of the old and the commencement of operations for the new lighthouse.
It was a calm evening in the autumn 1756 when Teddy Maroon, smoking a little black pipe, sauntered towards the residence of old John Potter. On reaching the door he extinguished the little pipe by the summary process of thrusting the point of his blunt forefinger into the bowl, and deposited it hot in his vest pocket. His tap was answered by a small servant girl, with a very red and ragged head of hair, who ushered him into the presence of the aged couple. They were seated in the two chairs—one on each side of the fireplace—which they might almost be said to inhabit. Little Nora was stirring a few embers of coal into a cheery flame, for she knew the old people loved the sight of the fire even in summer. On a chair beside old Martha lay the open Bible, from which Nora had been reading, and on old Martha’s knee was the valued dictionary, upside down as usual.
“Glad to see you, lad,” said old John, with a pleasant smile as he extended his hand; “it does us good to see you; it minds us so of old times.”
“Ah, then, I’ve got to tell ’ee what’ll mind you more of owld times than the mere sight o’ me face,” said Teddy, as he patted old Martha on the shoulder and sat down beside her. “How are ’ee, owld ooman?”
“Ay,” replied Martha in a tremulous voice, “you’re uncommon like your father—as like as two peas.”
“Faix, av ye saw the dear owld gintleman now,” said Teddy with a laugh, “ye’d think there was a difference. Hows’ever, its o’ no use repaitin’ me question, for any man could see that you’re in the best o’ health—you’re bloomin’ like a cabbage rose.”
The latter part of this complimentary speech was shouted into old Martha’s ear, and she responded by shaking her head and desiring the flatterer to “go along.”
“Well, John,” said the visitor, turning to his father’s old friend, “you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve been engaged to work at the new lighthouse, an’, moreover we’ve got fairly begun.”
“Youdon’tsay so,” cried John Potter, with some of the old fire sparkling in his eyes; “well, now, that is pleasant noos. Why, it makes me a’most wish to be young again. Of course I heard that they’ve bin hard at the preparations for a good while; but few people comes to see me now; they think I’m too old to be interested in anything; I suppose; an’ I didn’t know that it was fairly begun, or that you were on the work: I’d like to hear what your old father would say to it, Teddy.”
“I don’t know what he’d say to it,” responded the Irishman, “but I know what he threatens to do, for I wrote him the other day tellin’ him all about it, an’ he bade my sister Kathleen write back that he’s more nor half a mind to come and superintend the operations.”
“What is it all about, Nora?” demanded old Martha, who had been gazing intently at her husband’s countenance during the conversation.
Nora put her pretty lips to her grandmother’s ear and gave the desired information, whereupon the old lady looked solemnly at her spouse, and laying her hand on the dictionary, said, with strong though quivering emphasis: “now, John, mark my words, I ’ave a settled conviction that that light’ouse will come to a bad end. It’s sure to be burnt or blow’d over.”
Having given vent to which prophecy, she relapsed into herself and appeared to ruminate on it with peculiar satisfaction.
“And what’s the name of the architect?” demanded John.
“Smeaton,” replied Teddy Maroon.
“Never heerd of ’im before,” returned John.
“No more did I,” said Teddy.
The two friends appeared to find food for meditation in this point of ignorance, for they fell into a state of silence for a few minutes, which was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr Thomas Potter. He looked a little wearied as he sat down beside his mother, whose face lighted up with an expression of intense delight as she said, “Come away, Tommy, where have you been, my boy?”
“I’ve been out on the sea, mother, after mischief as usual,” replied Tommy, whose bald head and wrinkled brow repudiated, while his open hearty smile appeared to justify, the juvenile name.
“What! they ’aven’t engaged you on the noo light’ouse, ’ave they?” said old Martha, in horror.
“No, no, mother, don’t fear that,” said her son, hastening to relieve her mind, “but you know the new engineer is gathering information from all quarters, and he naturally applied to me, because I am of his own profession and have known and studied the rock since I was a little boy.”
“Know’d an’ studied it,” exclaimed Martha with more than her wonted vigour, “ay, an’ if you’d said you’d a’most broke your old mother’s heart with it, you’d ’ave said no more than the truth, Tommy. It’s a wonder as that rock hasn’t brought me to a prematoor grave. However, it ain’t likely to do so now, an’ I’m glad they have not inveigled you into it, my boy; for it’s an awful place for wettin’ of your feet an’ dirt’in’ of your hands and pinafores, an’—”
The old lady, relapsing here into early reminiscences, once more retired within herself, while. Teddy Maroon and John Potter, mentioning their ignorance as to the architect who had undertaken the great work, demanded of “Mister Thomas” if he could enlighten them.
“Of course I can,” he replied, “for he is well known to his friends as a most able man, and will become better known to the world, if I may venture to prophesy, as the builder of what is sure to be the most famous lighthouse on the English coast. His name is Smeaton, and he is not an engineer.”
“Not an engineer?” echoed Teddy and old John, in surprise.
“No, he’s a mathematical instrument maker.”
“Well now,” said John Potter, gazing meditatively into the fireplace where Nora had evoked a tiny flame, “that is strange. This Eddystun Rock seems to have what I may call a pecooliar destiny. The builder of the first light’ouse was a country gentleman; of the second, a silk-mercer; and now, as you say, the third is to be put up by a maker o’ mathymatical instruments. I only hope,” continued John, shaking his head gravely at the fireplace, “that he won’t make a mess of it like the others did.”
“Come now, father,” returned his son, “don’t say that the others made a mess of it. We must remember that Winstanley began his building in what we may call total darkness. No other man before him had attempted such a work, so that he had no predecessor whose good points he might imitate, or whose failures he might avoid. Many a trained engineer might have made a worse mess of it, and, to my mind, it says much for poor Winstanley’s capacity, all things considered, that his lighthouse stood so long as the six or seven years of its building. Then as to Rudyerd’s one, it was in reality a great success. It stood firm for nigh fifty years, and, but for the fire, might have stood for any number of years to come. It cannot be justly said that he made a mess of it. As well might you say that the builders of a first-rate ship made a mess of it because someone set her alight after she had sailed the ocean for half a century.”
“True, Tommy, true,” said old John, nodding acquiescence emphatically. On seeing this, old Martha, knowing nothing about the matter because of her deafness, nodded emphatically also, and said, “that’s so, Tommy, I always ’ad a settled conviction that you was right, except,” she added, as if to guard herself, “except w’en you was after mischief.”
“Well, but Tommy,” continued old John, “you was agoin’ to tell us somethin’ about this Mister Smeaton. What sort of a man is he?”
“As far as I can judge, on short acquaintance,” replied Potter, “he seems to be a man who has got a mind and a will of his own, and looks like one who won’t be turned out of his straight course by trifles. His name is John, which is a good bible name, besides being yours, father, and he comes from Leeds, a highly respectable place, which has produced men of note before now. His age is thirty-two, which is about the most vigorous period of a man’s life, and he has come to his present business in spite of all opposition, a fact which is favourable to the prospects of the lighthouse. In short he’s a natural genius, and a born engineer. His father, an attorney, wished him to follow his own profession, but it was soon clear that that was out of the question, for the boy’s whole soul was steeped from earliest childhood in mechanics.”
“I once knew a boy,” said John Potter, with a smile, “whose whole soul was steeped in the same thing!”
“And in mischief,” added old Martha, suddenly, much to every one’s surprise. The old woman’s deafness was indeed of a strangely intermittent type!
“Well,” continued Potter, with a laugh and a nod to his mother, “no doubt Smeaton had a spice of mischief in him among other qualities, for it is said of him that when quite a little fellow he made a force pump, with which he emptied his father’s fish-pond of water, to the detriment, not to say consternation, of the fish. The upshot of it all was that the lad was apprenticed to a maker of mathematical instruments, and soon proved himself to be an inventive genius of considerable power. Ere long he commenced business on his own account, and has now undertaken the task of building thethirdlighthouse on the Eddystone. I was in London lately, and saw the beautiful models of the intended structure which Smeaton has made with his own hands, and it seems to me that he’s just the man to do the work.”
At the mention of models, old John Potter’s eyes lighted up, for it brought the memory of former days vividly before him.
“He means to build it of stone,” said the son.
“Stone, say ’ee? that’s right, Tommy, that’s right,” said old John, with a nod of strong approval, “I’ve always thought that the weak point in the old light’ouses waswant of weight. On such a slope of a foundation, you know, it requires great weight to prevent the seas washin’ a lighthouse clean away.”
“I’ve thought the same thing, father, but what you and I only thought of Smeaton has stated, and intends to act upon. He means to build a tower so solid that it will defy the utmost fury of winds and waves. He is going to cut the sloping foundation into a series of steps or shelves, which will prevent the possibility of slipping. The shape of the building is to be something like the trunk of an oak tree, with a wider base than the lighthouse of Rudyerd. The first twenty feet or so of it is to be built solid; each stone to be made in the shape of a dovetail, and all the stones circling round a central key to which they will cling, as well as to each other, besides being held by bolts and cement, so that the lower part of the building will be as firm as the rock on which it stands. But I daresay, father,” continued his son, with a glance at Teddy Maroon, “our friend here, being engaged on the work, has told you all about this already.”
“Not I,” said Maroon, quickly, “I’ve bin too busy to come here until to-day, and though I’ve got me own notions o’ what Mr Smeaton intends, by obsarvin’ what’s goin’ on, I han’t guessed the quarter o’ what you’ve towld me, sur. Howsever, I can spake to what’s bin already done. You must know,” said Teddy, with a great affectation of being particular, “Mr Smeaton has wisely secured his workmen by howldin’ out pleasant prospects to ’em. In the first place, we’ve got good regular wages, an’ additional pay whin we’re on the Rock. In the second place, extra work on shore is paid for over an’ above the fixed wages. In the third place, each man has got his appinted dooty, an’s kep close at it. In the fourth place, the rules is uncommon stringent, and instant dismissal follers the breakin’ of ’em. In the fifth place—”
“Never mind the fifth place, Teddy,” interrupted old John, “like yer father, ye was ever too fond o’ waggin’ yer tongue. Just tell us straight off, if ye can, what’s been already done at the Rock.”
“Well, well,” said Maroon, with a deprecatory smile, “owld father an’ me’s always bin misonderstud more or less; but no matter. Av coorse we’ve had the usual difficulties to fight agin, for the owld Eddystone Rock ain’t agoin’ to change its natur to please nobody. As me father described it inhisday, so I finds it in mine. On most of our first visits we got wet skins; but little or no work done, for though it might be ever so calm here at Plymouth, it always seemed to be blowin’ a private gale out at the Rock—leastwise, av it warn’t blowin’, there was swell enough most days to make the landin’ troublesome. So we got wan hour’s work at wan time, an’ two hours, or may be three, at another, off an’ on. As the saison advanced we got on better, sometimes got five and six hours on the Rock right on ind, and whin the tide sarved we wint at it by torch-light. Wan week we got no less than sixty-four an’ a half hours on it, an’ we was all in great sperrits intirely over that, for you see, mister Potter, we’re all picked men an’ takes a pride in the work—to say nothin’ of havin’ a good master. Av coorse we’ve had the usual botherations wid the sharp rocks cuttin’ the cable of our attendin’-sloop, an’ gales suddinly gettin’ up whin we was at the Rock wantin’ to land, as well as suddinly goin’ down whin we wasn’t at the Rock, so that we missed our chances. But such sorrows was what we expicted, more or less. The wust disappointment we’ve had has bin wi’ the noo store-ship, theNeptune Buss. I wish it was the Neptunebu’st, I do, for it’s wus than a tub, an’ gives us more trouble than it’s all worth. Now the saison’s drawin’ to a close, it’s clear that we’ll do no more this year than cut the foundations.”
“An’ that’s not a bad season’s work, lad,” said old John. “Ain’t it not, Tommy?”
“Not bad, indeed, father, for there are always unusual and vexatious delays at the beginning of a great work; besides, some of the greatest difficulties in connexion with such buildings are encountered in the preparation of the foundations. I suppose Mr Smeaton means to dress the stones on shore, ready for laying?” continued Potter the younger, turning to Maroon, who had risen and was buttoning up his monkey-jacket.
“Why, yes sur, haven’t you bin down at the yard?”
“Not yet. I’ve only just arrived in town; and must be off again to-morrow. You can’t think how disappointed I am at being prevented by business from taking part in the building of the new lighthouse—”
“What’s that you say, Tommy?” interrupted old Martha, putting her hand to her ear and wrinkling her brow interrogatively.
“That I’m grieved, mother, at not being able to help in building the new lighthouse,” shouted her son, in a voice that might have split an ordinary ear.
Old Martha’s visage relaxed into a faint smile as she turned towards the fire and looked earnestly at it, as if for explanation or consolation.
“Ay ay,” she muttered, “it would have bin strange if you hadn’t wished that; you was always up to mischief, Tommy; always; or else wishin’ to be up to it, although you might know as well as I know myself, that if you did get leave to go hout to the Rock (which you’re for ever wantin’ to do), it would be wet feet an dirty pinafores mornin’, noon, an’ night, which it’s little you care for that, you bad boy, though it causes me no end of washin’ an’ dryin’,—ay ay!”
The old woman looked up in the smiling countenance of her stalwart son, and becoming apparently a little confused by reminiscences of the past and evidences of the present, retired within herself and relapsed into silence.
“Well, sur,” continued Teddy, “just give a look down if you can; it’s worth your while. Mr Smeaton means to have every stone cut in the yard here on shore, and to lay down each ‘course’ in the yard too, to be sure that it all fits, for we’ll have no time out at the Rock to correct mistakes or make alterations. It’ll be ‘sharp’s the word, boys, and look alive O!’ all through; ship the stones; off to the Rock; land ’em in hot haste; clap on the cement; down wi’ the blocks; work like blazes—or Irishmen, which is much the same thing; make all fast into the boats again; sailors shoutin’ ‘Look alive, me hearties! squall bearin’ down right abaft of the lee stuns’l gangway!’—or somethin’ like that; up sail, an’ hooroo! boys, for the land, weather permittin’; if not, out to say an’ take things aisy, or av ye can’t be aisy, be as aisy as ye can!”
“A pleasant prospect, truly,” said Mr T. Potter, laughing, as he shook the Irishman’s horny hand.
“Good-bye, John. Good-bye, Nora, me darlin’; Good-bye, owld ooman.”
“Hold your noise, lad,” said old Martha, looking gravely into her visitor’s face.
“That’s just what I manes to do, mavoorneen,” replied Teddy Maroon, with a pleasant nod, “for I’ll be off to the Rock to-morrow by day-break, weather permittin’, an’ it’s little help any noise from me would give to the waves that kape gallivantin’ wid the reefs out there like mad things, from Sunday to Saturday, all the year round.”
When the door shut on the noisy Irishman, it seemed as though one of the profound calms so much needed and desired out at the Eddystone Rock had settled down in old John Potter’s home—a calm which was not broken for some minutes thereafter except by old Martha muttering softly once or twice, while she gravely shook her head: “Hold your noise, Teddy, hold your noise, lad; you’re very like your father; hold your noise!”
Chapter Eight.Experiences, Difficulties, and Dangers of the First Season.While the building of the new lighthouse was being thus calmly discussed on shore, out at the Eddystone the wild waves were lashing themselves into fierce fury, as if they had got wind of what was being done, and had hurried from all ends of the sea to interdict proceedings. In hurrying to the field of battle these wild waves indulged in a little of their favourite pastime. They caught up two unfortunate vessels—a large West Indiaman and a man-of-war’s tender—and bore them triumphantly towards the fatal Rock. It seemed as though the waves regarded these as representative vessels, and meant thus to cast the royal and the merchant navies on the Eddystone, by way, as it were, of throwing down the gauntlet to presumptuous Man.For want of the famous light the vessels bore straight down upon the Rock, and the wild waves danced and laughed, and displayed their white teeth and their seething ire, as if in exultation at the thought of the shattered hulls and mangled corpses, which they hoped ere long to toss upon their crests.Fortunately, Man was on the “look out!” TheBusswas tugging at her moorings off the Rock, and some of the seamen and hands were perambulating the deck, wishing for settled weather, and trying to pierce the gloom by which they were surrounded. Suddenly the two vessels were seen approaching. The alarm was given. Those on board the doomed ships saw their danger when too late, and tried to sheer off the fatal spot, but their efforts were fruitless. The exulting waves hurried them irresistibly on. In this extremity the Eddystone men leaped into their yawl, pushed off, and succeeded in towing both vessels out of danger; at once demonstrating the courage of English hearts and the need there was for English hands to complete the work on which they were then engaged.Next day Mr Smeaton came off to visit the Rock, and the news of the rescue served him for a text on which to preach a lay-sermon as to the need of every man exerting himself to the uttermost in a work which was so obviously a matter of life and death. It was, however, scarcely necessary to urge these men, for they were almost all willing. But not all; in nearly every flock there is a black sheep or so, that requires weeding out. There were two such sheep among the builders of the Eddystone. Being good at everything, Smeaton was a good weeder. He soon had them up by the roots and cast out. A foreman proved to be disorderly, and tried to make the men promise, “that if he should be discharged they would all follow him.” Smeaton at once assembled the men and gave orders that such of them as had any dependence on, or attachment to, the refractory foreman, should take up his tools and follow him. Only one did so—the rest stood firm.At this time the weather was very unsettled, and the work progressed slowly. Once or twice it was still further retarded, by men who should have known better, in the following manner:One evening one of the lighthouse boats was boarded by a cutter, the officer in charge of which proceeded to “impress” several of the men into the navy.“It’s to be pressed we are,” murmured Teddy Maroon to one of his mates, in a vexed tone, “sure the tater-heads might know we’ve got an Admiralty protection.”Whether the officer knew this or not, it was evident that he had overheard the remark, for, after selecting two of the best men, he turned, and, pointing to Maroon, said aloud:—“Let that tater-head also jump on board. He’s not worth much, but the service is in want of powder-monkeys just now. Perhaps he’ll do. If not, I’ll send him back.”Thus was the poor Irishman carried off with his two mates to fight the battles of his country! In a few days, however, they were all sent back, and the indiscreet officer who had impressed them got a reprimand for his pains. After the first season they had no further interruptions from this source.Large mainsails were given them for their boats, with a lighthouse painted on each, and every man obtained besides a silver medal of exemption from impressment.But this was only the commencement of poor Teddy’s “throubles” at that time. He had scarcely returned to his work when a new one overtook him. This was, however, in the way of business.“Teddy, my fine fellow,” said Richardson, the foreman, as they stood on the deck of theBussholding on to the mizzen shrouds, “it’s quite clear to me that with the wind dead against them like this, the relief boat with Hill’s company won’t be able to get off, and as we’re short of provisions, I mean to take the big yawl and go ashore with my gang. As the best men are always chosen for posts of danger, I shall leave you in charge of theBusswith two hands—Smart and Bowden;—both stanch fellows as you know.”“I’m your servant, sir,” said Teddy, “only if the best men are wanted here, hadn’t you better stop yourself, an’ I’ll take the rest ashore?”Richardson did not see his way to this, though he acknowledged the compliment, and that evening Teddy found himself in command of the despisedBuss, with half a gale blowing, and, as he observed, “more where that came from.”Teddy was right, “more” did come, and kept him and his mates idle prisoners for a week. Indeed the whole of that month had been so stormy that from the 16th to the 30th only twenty hours’ work had been done on the Rock.During six days the three men stuck to their post, but at the end of that time Teddy called a council of war.“Gintlemen,” said he, ”(for men in our pursition must be purlite to sich other), it’s our dooty to stick by this here tub so long’s it’s of any use to do so; but as she seems to be well able to look after herself, an’ our purvisions has come down to the last ounce, it’s my opinion—founded on profound meditations over me last pipe—that we’d better go ashore.”To this speech John Bowden replied “I’m agreeable, for it’s not my dooty to starve myself.”William Smart, however, intimated that he was “disagreeable.”“Because,” said he, “its blowin’ great guns, an’ looks as if it meant to go on, which is not a state of weather suitable for goin’ over a dozen miles of sea in a small open boat, without even a mast or a rag of sail to bless herself with.”“Pooh!” exclaimed Maroon, contemptuously; “a blanket’ll make the best of sails.”“Ay,” added Bowden, “and an oar will do well enough for a mast—anyhow we’ll try, for most votes carry in all well-regulated meetin’s.”This plan, although attended with considerable danger, was finally agreed to, and forthwith acted on.That afternoon the men on shore observed a very Robinson-Crusoe-like boat coming in from the sea with an oar-mast and a blanket-sail, from which landed “Captain” Teddy Maroon and his two mates. The same evening, however, the wind moderated and shifted a little, so that the relief boat, with provisions and the gang of men whose turn it was to do duty in the store-ship, succeeded in getting off and reaching theirBussin safety.The weather became so bad soon after this that Smeaton thought it wise to bring his operations for that season to a close. Accordingly, on the 7th November, he visited the Rock, which had been cut into a regular floor of successive terraces or steps, and was considerably larger in circumference than the foundation on which Rudyerd’s building had rested. On the 15th theBusssailed into Plymouth, the men having run out of provisions, and having been unable to do anything on the Rock.A great storm raged on the 22nd. On the previous day Smeaton had gone off in theBussto attach a buoy to the mooring chains for that winter. The task was laborious, and when it was completed they found it impossible to return to Plymouth, owing to the miserable sailing qualities of their vessel. There was nothing for it but to cast loose and run before the wind. While doing so they snapt the painter of the yawl, and lost it.Thus they were, as it were, cast adrift upon the sea with neither maps, charts, books, nor instruments to guide them. No alarm, however, was felt, the neighbouring headlands being bold, and all on board having previously been at Fowey, to which port Smeaton now gave orders to steer.Wet and worn out with labour, he then went below to snatch a few hours’ repose. In the night he was awakened by a tremendous noise overhead. The men were rushing about the deck, and shouting wildly. He sprang up without dressing. A voice, exclaiming, “For God’s sake heave hard on that rope if you want to save yourselves!” saluted him as he gained the deck. Roaring wind, a deluge of rain, and pitch darkness held revel on the sea; but above the din was heard the dreaded sound of breakers close under their lee. The jib was split, the mainsail half-lowered, and the vessel running gunwale under. By vigorous and well-directed action, in which John Bowden proved himself to be one of those men who are towers of strength in emergencies, the head of theBusswas brought round, and the immediate danger averted, but they had no idea where they were, and when day broke on the 23rd they found themselves out of sight of land! Their last boat, also, had filled while towing astern, and had to be cut adrift. At noon, however; they sighted the Land’s End—the wind blowing hard from the nor’-east.“No chance o’ making a British port in this wind with such a vessel, sir,” said John Bowden, touching his cap respectfully to Mr Smeaton.“As well try to bate to win’ard in me grandmother’s wash-tub,” remarked Teddy Maroon, in a disrespectful tone.Smeaton, agreeing with them, lay-to the whole of the 24th, and then, casting anchor, debated whether it were better to make for the coast of France or try to reach the Scilly Islands. Fortunately a change of wind on the 25th enabled them to weigh anchor and run back to Plymouth rejoicing; and vowing, as John Bowden said, never more to venture out to sea in aBuss! They reached the harbour at six in the morning, to the intense relief of their friends, who had given them up for lost.Thus ended the first season—1756.
While the building of the new lighthouse was being thus calmly discussed on shore, out at the Eddystone the wild waves were lashing themselves into fierce fury, as if they had got wind of what was being done, and had hurried from all ends of the sea to interdict proceedings. In hurrying to the field of battle these wild waves indulged in a little of their favourite pastime. They caught up two unfortunate vessels—a large West Indiaman and a man-of-war’s tender—and bore them triumphantly towards the fatal Rock. It seemed as though the waves regarded these as representative vessels, and meant thus to cast the royal and the merchant navies on the Eddystone, by way, as it were, of throwing down the gauntlet to presumptuous Man.
For want of the famous light the vessels bore straight down upon the Rock, and the wild waves danced and laughed, and displayed their white teeth and their seething ire, as if in exultation at the thought of the shattered hulls and mangled corpses, which they hoped ere long to toss upon their crests.
Fortunately, Man was on the “look out!” TheBusswas tugging at her moorings off the Rock, and some of the seamen and hands were perambulating the deck, wishing for settled weather, and trying to pierce the gloom by which they were surrounded. Suddenly the two vessels were seen approaching. The alarm was given. Those on board the doomed ships saw their danger when too late, and tried to sheer off the fatal spot, but their efforts were fruitless. The exulting waves hurried them irresistibly on. In this extremity the Eddystone men leaped into their yawl, pushed off, and succeeded in towing both vessels out of danger; at once demonstrating the courage of English hearts and the need there was for English hands to complete the work on which they were then engaged.
Next day Mr Smeaton came off to visit the Rock, and the news of the rescue served him for a text on which to preach a lay-sermon as to the need of every man exerting himself to the uttermost in a work which was so obviously a matter of life and death. It was, however, scarcely necessary to urge these men, for they were almost all willing. But not all; in nearly every flock there is a black sheep or so, that requires weeding out. There were two such sheep among the builders of the Eddystone. Being good at everything, Smeaton was a good weeder. He soon had them up by the roots and cast out. A foreman proved to be disorderly, and tried to make the men promise, “that if he should be discharged they would all follow him.” Smeaton at once assembled the men and gave orders that such of them as had any dependence on, or attachment to, the refractory foreman, should take up his tools and follow him. Only one did so—the rest stood firm.
At this time the weather was very unsettled, and the work progressed slowly. Once or twice it was still further retarded, by men who should have known better, in the following manner:
One evening one of the lighthouse boats was boarded by a cutter, the officer in charge of which proceeded to “impress” several of the men into the navy.
“It’s to be pressed we are,” murmured Teddy Maroon to one of his mates, in a vexed tone, “sure the tater-heads might know we’ve got an Admiralty protection.”
Whether the officer knew this or not, it was evident that he had overheard the remark, for, after selecting two of the best men, he turned, and, pointing to Maroon, said aloud:—
“Let that tater-head also jump on board. He’s not worth much, but the service is in want of powder-monkeys just now. Perhaps he’ll do. If not, I’ll send him back.”
Thus was the poor Irishman carried off with his two mates to fight the battles of his country! In a few days, however, they were all sent back, and the indiscreet officer who had impressed them got a reprimand for his pains. After the first season they had no further interruptions from this source.
Large mainsails were given them for their boats, with a lighthouse painted on each, and every man obtained besides a silver medal of exemption from impressment.
But this was only the commencement of poor Teddy’s “throubles” at that time. He had scarcely returned to his work when a new one overtook him. This was, however, in the way of business.
“Teddy, my fine fellow,” said Richardson, the foreman, as they stood on the deck of theBussholding on to the mizzen shrouds, “it’s quite clear to me that with the wind dead against them like this, the relief boat with Hill’s company won’t be able to get off, and as we’re short of provisions, I mean to take the big yawl and go ashore with my gang. As the best men are always chosen for posts of danger, I shall leave you in charge of theBusswith two hands—Smart and Bowden;—both stanch fellows as you know.”
“I’m your servant, sir,” said Teddy, “only if the best men are wanted here, hadn’t you better stop yourself, an’ I’ll take the rest ashore?”
Richardson did not see his way to this, though he acknowledged the compliment, and that evening Teddy found himself in command of the despisedBuss, with half a gale blowing, and, as he observed, “more where that came from.”
Teddy was right, “more” did come, and kept him and his mates idle prisoners for a week. Indeed the whole of that month had been so stormy that from the 16th to the 30th only twenty hours’ work had been done on the Rock.
During six days the three men stuck to their post, but at the end of that time Teddy called a council of war.
“Gintlemen,” said he, ”(for men in our pursition must be purlite to sich other), it’s our dooty to stick by this here tub so long’s it’s of any use to do so; but as she seems to be well able to look after herself, an’ our purvisions has come down to the last ounce, it’s my opinion—founded on profound meditations over me last pipe—that we’d better go ashore.”
To this speech John Bowden replied “I’m agreeable, for it’s not my dooty to starve myself.”
William Smart, however, intimated that he was “disagreeable.”
“Because,” said he, “its blowin’ great guns, an’ looks as if it meant to go on, which is not a state of weather suitable for goin’ over a dozen miles of sea in a small open boat, without even a mast or a rag of sail to bless herself with.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed Maroon, contemptuously; “a blanket’ll make the best of sails.”
“Ay,” added Bowden, “and an oar will do well enough for a mast—anyhow we’ll try, for most votes carry in all well-regulated meetin’s.”
This plan, although attended with considerable danger, was finally agreed to, and forthwith acted on.
That afternoon the men on shore observed a very Robinson-Crusoe-like boat coming in from the sea with an oar-mast and a blanket-sail, from which landed “Captain” Teddy Maroon and his two mates. The same evening, however, the wind moderated and shifted a little, so that the relief boat, with provisions and the gang of men whose turn it was to do duty in the store-ship, succeeded in getting off and reaching theirBussin safety.
The weather became so bad soon after this that Smeaton thought it wise to bring his operations for that season to a close. Accordingly, on the 7th November, he visited the Rock, which had been cut into a regular floor of successive terraces or steps, and was considerably larger in circumference than the foundation on which Rudyerd’s building had rested. On the 15th theBusssailed into Plymouth, the men having run out of provisions, and having been unable to do anything on the Rock.
A great storm raged on the 22nd. On the previous day Smeaton had gone off in theBussto attach a buoy to the mooring chains for that winter. The task was laborious, and when it was completed they found it impossible to return to Plymouth, owing to the miserable sailing qualities of their vessel. There was nothing for it but to cast loose and run before the wind. While doing so they snapt the painter of the yawl, and lost it.
Thus they were, as it were, cast adrift upon the sea with neither maps, charts, books, nor instruments to guide them. No alarm, however, was felt, the neighbouring headlands being bold, and all on board having previously been at Fowey, to which port Smeaton now gave orders to steer.
Wet and worn out with labour, he then went below to snatch a few hours’ repose. In the night he was awakened by a tremendous noise overhead. The men were rushing about the deck, and shouting wildly. He sprang up without dressing. A voice, exclaiming, “For God’s sake heave hard on that rope if you want to save yourselves!” saluted him as he gained the deck. Roaring wind, a deluge of rain, and pitch darkness held revel on the sea; but above the din was heard the dreaded sound of breakers close under their lee. The jib was split, the mainsail half-lowered, and the vessel running gunwale under. By vigorous and well-directed action, in which John Bowden proved himself to be one of those men who are towers of strength in emergencies, the head of theBusswas brought round, and the immediate danger averted, but they had no idea where they were, and when day broke on the 23rd they found themselves out of sight of land! Their last boat, also, had filled while towing astern, and had to be cut adrift. At noon, however; they sighted the Land’s End—the wind blowing hard from the nor’-east.
“No chance o’ making a British port in this wind with such a vessel, sir,” said John Bowden, touching his cap respectfully to Mr Smeaton.
“As well try to bate to win’ard in me grandmother’s wash-tub,” remarked Teddy Maroon, in a disrespectful tone.
Smeaton, agreeing with them, lay-to the whole of the 24th, and then, casting anchor, debated whether it were better to make for the coast of France or try to reach the Scilly Islands. Fortunately a change of wind on the 25th enabled them to weigh anchor and run back to Plymouth rejoicing; and vowing, as John Bowden said, never more to venture out to sea in aBuss! They reached the harbour at six in the morning, to the intense relief of their friends, who had given them up for lost.
Thus ended the first season—1756.