CHAPTER II.

THE EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE.

About fourteen miles to the south-west of Plymouth harbour, and out in the deep and billowy channel, lies a reel or ledge of rocks, known, in allusion to the swirl of currents always tossing and seething around it, by the name of the Eddystone.

This reef is situated in a line with Lizard Head in Cornwall, and Start Point in Devonshire.

Consequently, it forms a perilous obstruction, not only in the water-way which leads to the great arsenal and haven of South Devon, but in the track of all vessels entering or leaving the English Channel; which, we may add, is frequented by a greater number of ships than any other part of the wide ocean.

[Sidenote: The Eddystone rock.]

When the tide is up, its hoary crest is scarcely visible, but its position is shown by the eddy which washes to and fro above it; at low tide, several low, jagged, and dreary ridges of gneiss lift their heads from the boiling waves. During a stiff breeze from the south-west, these form the centre, the focus, as it were, of a boiling caldron of waters, and no ship enticed within their vortex can escape destruction.

[Sidenote: Henry Winstanley.]

As may be supposed, the erection of a lighthouse on rocks so perilous came to be regarded as an urgent need soon after men had learned the value of commercial enterprise. The task, however, seemed so dangerous, not to say impossible, that no one ventured to attempt it, until 1696, when it was undertaken by a noble and patriotic gentleman, named Henry Winstanley, who was much grieved by the loss of life which annually occurred there.

Winstanley is described as one of those eccentric but ingenious men who find a peculiar pleasure in mystifying their friends, and in throwing a kind of glamour or magical atmosphere over our daily, commonplace, realistic life. He made use of his scientific knowledge to play the most extraordinary practical jokes. You went to spend a night or two at his old Essex manor-house. On entering your bed-room, you nearly tripped over an old slipper. You kicked it aside, and, lo, a ghost immediately started from the floor. In your sudden alarm you flung yourself into the nearest chair: out sprang a couple of arms, and clasped you and held you a prisoner. You went into the garden, and sought repose in a woodbine-trellised arbour. Your seat and yourself shot away from the pleasant alcove, and were quickly floating in the middle of the adjoining canal!

The author of such devices as these might be, and was, a noble and chivalrous gentleman, but he was also, unquestionably, a very eccentric character! His eccentricity displayed itself in the lighthouse which his chivalrous humanity instigated him to build on the Eddystone Rock. On first glancing at an engraving of it, you hardly know whether you see before you a Chinese pagoda or a Turkish minaret, grafted on a circular tower, and ornamented with cranes and chains like a London warehouse!

Winstanley began his work in 1696.

The first summer--and, of course, it was in summer only that men could labour on that wind-swept, wave-worn rock--was occupied in excavating twelve holes, and fastening as many irons in them, to serve for the superstructure.

[Sidenote: Progress of the work.]

Very slowly and drearily did the work go on; for though it was the "sweet summer-time," out in the wild channel the weather would frequently prove of such terrible violence that, for ten or fourteen days in succession, the waters would boil and toss about the rocks--vexed by contrary winds, and by the inrush of the swelling billows from the main ocean--and mount one upon another, like maddened horses, and leap and bound to such a height as completely to bury the reef and all upon it, and effectually prevent any vessel or boat from drawing near. On such days the men, you may be sure, thanked God that they were housed safely on the green shores of Devon.

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

[Sidenote: Winstanley's lighthouse.]

In the course of the fourth summer the foundations were considerably strengthened, and the remainder of the work appertaining to the fabric itself was completed. We are told, and the extant engravings show us, that it bore, in its finished condition, a close resemblance to "a Chinese pagoda, with open galleries and fantastic projections." Round the lantern ran a wide open gallery; so wide and open, indeed, that it was possible, when the sea ran high, for a six-oared boat to be lifted up by the waves and driven through it. Such an edifice could not long withstand the violence of the gale or the fury of the waters; but this much was gained by its construction,--it was shown that a lighthouse could be erected on this sea-girt rock, and, therefore, the achievement deserves to be described as "one of the most laudable enterprises which any heroic mind could undertake, for it filled the breast of the mariner with new hope."

[Sidenote: The great storm.]

Winstanley was very proud of his work, and so convinced, it is said, of its thorough stability, that he frequently expressed a wish to be under its roof in the fiercest hurricane that ever blew beneath the face of heaven, assured that it would not shake one joist or beam. Heaven sometimes takes the presumptuous at their word! Winstanley, with his workmen and light-keepers, had fixed his residence in the tower, when a tremendous storm arose, which, on the 26th of November, 1702, blew a hurricane of unprecedented violence. The sea rolled its billows heavily, and the wind raged, and masses of cloud darkened the horizon, and all Nature seemed convulsed by the elemental strife.

When the dawn broke, the people of Plymouth hastened to the beach, and turned their anxious gaze towards the Eddystone. The waters swirled and seethed around and about the rock; but where was the lighthouse, the fantastic structure raised by the ready brain and daring soul of Winstanley?

During the night it had been swept away, and not a memorial remained of its ill-fated occupants.

The melancholy incident forms the theme of a striking ballad by Jean Ingelow, which concludes in the following manner:--

"And it fell out, fell out at last, That he would put to sea, To scan once more his lighthouse-tower On the rock o' destiny.

"And the winds woke, and the storm broke, And wrecks came plunging in; None in the town that night lay down Or sleep or rest to win.

"The great mad waves were rolling graves, And each flung up its dead; The seething flow was white below, And black the sky o'erhead.

"And when the dawn, the dull gray dawn, Broke on the trembling town, And men looked south to the harbour mouth, The lighthouse-tower was down!

"Down in the deep where he doth sleep Who made it shine afar, And then in the night that drowned its light, Set, with his pilot star."

[Sidenote: John Rudyerd.]

The usefulness of a beacon on the Eddystone Rock had been so abundantly proved that it was not long before an attempt was made to replace Winstanley's unfortunate structure. A Captain Lovet obtained a ninety-nine years' lease of the rock from the Trinity House Corporation, and engaged as his architect a silk-mercer on Ludgate Hill, named John Rudyerd. The reasons that led him to make so curious a choice are unknown, but the event proved that it was a sensible one. Rudyerd designed a graceful and even elegant building, choosing a circle for the outline, and studying the greatest simplicity, so as to offer the least possible resistance to wind and wave.

In order to obtain a firm foundation, he divided the surface of the rock into seven slightly unequal stages, and in these he dug or excavated six and thirty holes, varying in depth from twenty to thirty inches. Each hole was six inches square at the top, gradually narrowing to five inches, and then again expanding and flattening to nine inches by three at the bottom. Into these dove-tailed cavities or sockets were inserted strong iron bolts, weighing from two to five hundredweight, according to length and structure.

These bolts held fast a course of squared oak-timbers laid lengthwise on the lowest of the seven stages, so as to reach the level of the stage or step immediately above it. Another set of beams was then laid diagonally covering those already laid, and raising the level surface to the height of the third stage. The next course was deposited longitudinally, and the fourth diagonally, and so on alternately, until a basement of solid timber was erected, two courses higher than the highest point of the rock.

[Sidenote: His lighthouse.]

Rudyerd's lighthouse is generally described as a fabric of wood; but this is incorrect. To obtain the necessary solidity, and a sufficient weight to counteract the weight of the waters of the Channel, he combined courses of Cornish granite with his courses of timber, in the proportion of five to two, so far as the basement went: that is, he laid two courses of timber, and then five of granite, and then two more of timber; all being firmly secured by iron bolts and cramps. On this substructure, which measured 63 feet in height, with a base of 23 feet, he raised four stories of timber, crowned by an octagonal lantern, 10 feet 6 inches in diameter, and a ball of 2 feet 3 inches in diameter. The total elevation, from the lowest surface of the rock to the top of this ball, was 92 feet. Rudyerd completed his work in 1709.

[Sidenote: On fire!]

For a long period of years, nearly half a century, it withstood the attacks of wind and wave, and many a vessel was kept from destruction by its warning light. On the 2nd of December 1755, it was fated to fall before an unexpected enemy. There were three keepers resident in the lighthouse at the time. One of them, whose turn it was to watch, entered the lantern, at about two o'clock A.M., to snuff the candles, and, to his horror, discovered it to be filled with smoke. On opening the door which led to the balcony, to permit of its escape, a flame instantly leaped from the interior of the cupola. He hastened to alarm his companions, and vigorous efforts were made to extinguish the fire; but these proved ineffectual, owing to the dryness of the woodwork, and the difficulty of raising a sufficient supply of water to the top of the building. Fortunately for the keepers, the flames were descried from the shore, and a well-manned boat put off to their relief.

It reached the Eddystone about ten o'clock, when the fire had been raging for eight hours. The building was wholly destroyed; and the keepers, who had been driven away by the falling beams, the red-hot iron, and molten lead, were found, in a panic-stricken condition, crouching in a recess or cavern on the east side of the rock. They were carried into the boat, and conveyed ashore. Curious to relate, they were no sooner landed than one of them stole away, and was never afterwards heard of. His flight gave rise to a suspicion that the fire was not accidental; yet, when we remember that a lighthouse rock affords no means of escape for its inmates, we can hardly suppose it to be the place an incendiary would select for the scene of his wicked attempt. It is possible that the man's nerves had been so tried by the terrible nature of the peril he had undergone, that he knew not what he did.

[Sidenote: The lightkeeper's fate.]

Of the other two light-keepers, one, named Henry Hall, met with a singular fate. While engaged in dashing some buckets of water on the burning roof of the cupola, he chanced to look upwards, and a mass of molten lead fell down upon his head, face, and shoulders, burning him severely. On his arrival ashore, he persisted in asserting that a portion of the liquefied metal had gone down his throat. His medical attendant regarded the assertion as the offspring of a disordered imagination; but the man rapidly grew worse, and on the twelfth day of his illness, after an attack of violent convulsions, expired. A _post-mortem_ examination of his body then took place, and Hall's story was found to be true; for in the stomach lay a flat, oval piece of lead, seven ounces and five drachms in weight!

[Sidenote: John Smeaton.]

Acting on the old maxim of "Try, try, and try again," the Trinity House Corporation determined to erect another light-tower on the Eddystone, and intrusted the work to a mathematical instrument maker, named John Smeaton, who had already acquired a reputation as an ingenious mechanician.

Smeaton at this time was thirty-two years of age. As we shall tell the story of his brave and industrious life hereafter, it will suffice us now to state that he had shown himself in a variety of experiences, skilful, prompt, patient, and indefatigable; never baffled by a difficulty, fertile in resource, and incapable of faltering in any enterprise he had deliberately undertaken.

[Sidenote: Design of his lighthouse.]

On examining into the conditions of the task which had devolved upon him, he came to the conclusion that the structures of his predecessors had both been deficient in weight; and that if Rudyerd's had not been destroyed by fire, it would not much longer have resisted the fury of the tempest. He announced his intention, therefore, of raising a fabric of such solidity that the sea should give way to _it_, and not _it_ to the sea; and he determined to build it entirely of stone. Moreover, Winstanley and Rudyerd had wasted much valuable time, from the difficulty of landing on the rock, and the impossibility of working on it continuously for any length of time. But Smeaton proposed to moor a vessel within a quarter of a mile of the scene of action, which should accommodate his company of workmen; and thus they would be prepared to seize every opportunity of launching their boat, and carrying their materials to the rock, instead of making a long voyage from Plymouth on each occasion.

So far as concerned the design of his intended erection, he was ready to adopt Rudyerd's idea of a cone, but he proposed to enlarge its diameter considerably; and the type he kept constantly before his eye was the trunk of an oak tree, which is equally remarkable for gracefulness and strength, and withstands successfully the most furious gales, when other forest trees are bent or broken.

The autumn of 1756 was occupied in the transport of the granite and other materials to the rock, in their preparation, and in the excavation of the steps or stages on which the foundation was to be laid.

[Sidenote: Laying the foundation.]

Early in June 1757 the work of erection began. The first stone, weighing two tons five hundredweight, was laid on the 12th. On the next day was finished the first course, consisting of four stones, so ingeniously dove-tailed into one another and into the rock as to form a single compact mass. The sloping form of the rock, to which the foundation was, of course, adapted, required only this small number of stones for the first course; the diameter of the masonry gradually increasing until the highest level surface was reached. Thus:--

[Illustration: Eddystone lighthouse foundation]

The second course, completed on the 30th of June, consisted of thirteen blocks of granite; the third course, completed on the 11th of July, of twenty-five; the fourth, on the 31st, of thirty-three. The sixth course was laid down by the 11th of August; and as it rose above the high-water mark, Smeaton was entitled to consider that he had conquered the greatest difficulties of his task.

[Sidenote: Fixing the blocks.]

Up to this point the mode of procedure in laying and fixing each great block of granite was as follows:--

The stone to be set being hung in the tackle, and its bed of mortar spread, was then lowered into its place, beaten with a heavy wooden mall, and levelled with a spirit-level; and the stone being accurately brought to its marks, was considered as set in its proper position. The next thing was to keep it there, notwithstanding the utmost violence of the sea might beat upon it before the mortar was thoroughly hard and dry. Therefore the carpenter dropped into a couple of vertical grooves, which had been previously cut in "the waist" of the stone, each an inch deep and three inches wide, two oaken wedges, one upon its head, the other with its point downwards, so that the two in each groove would lie heads and points. [Illustration: Foundation wedges.] With an iron bar, about two inches and a half broad, a quarter of an inch thick, and two feet and a half long, he then drove down one wedge upon the other--very gently at first, so that the opposite pairs of wedges, being equally tightened, would equally resist each other, and the stone would therefore keep its place. In like manner, a couple of wedges were pitched at the top of each groove; the dormant wedge (_i.e._, the one with the point upward) being held in the hand, while the drift wedge (i.e., the one with the point downward) was driven with a hammer. So much as remained above the upper surface of the stone was cut away with saw or chisel; and, generally, a couple of thin wedges were driven very moderately at the butt-end of the stone, whose tendency being to force it out of its dove-tail, they would, by moderate driving, assist in preserving the steadiness of the entire mass, in opposition to any violent agitation arising from the sea.

[Sidenote: Progress of the work.]

The stone thus firmly secured, a certain portion of mortar was liquefied, and the joints having been carefully "pointed," this liquid cement was poured in with iron ladles, so as to occupy every vacant space. The heavier part of the cement naturally fell to the bottom, while the fluid was absorbed by the stone. The vacancy thus left at the top was repeatedly refilled, until all remained solid; then the top was pointed, and, where necessary, defended by a layer of plaster.

The whole of the foundation having thus been brought to a proper level, some other means were required to secure a similar degree of solidity for the superstructure.

A hole, one foot square, was accordingly cut right through the middle of the central stone in the sixth course; and at equal distances in the circumference were sunk eight other sockets, each one foot square, and six inches deep. A strong plug of hard marble, also one foot square, but twenty-two inches long, was driven into the aforementioned central cavity, and set fast with mortar and wedges. This course, however, was only thirteen inches in depth; consequently the marble plug rose nine inches above the surface.

Upon the block thus prepared was set the central stone of the next course, having a similar hole in the middle, so as to receive the upper portion of the marble plug. Hence it is clear that no force or pressure of the sea, acting horizontally on any one of these central stones, could move it from its position, unless it were able to cut in two the marble plug; and to prevent the upper stone from being lifted, in case its mortar was destroyed, it was fixed down by four trenails. The blocks surrounding the central were dove-tailed together as before; and thus one course rose above another without any interruption, except from the occasional inrush of the waves or violence of the weather.

[Sidenote: Smeaton's industry.]

In his superintendence of the difficult and laborious work, Smeaton's activity and perseverance were unwearied. As soon as it had been so far accomplished as to present the appearance of a level platform, he could not deny himself the pleasure of a promenade upon it; but making a false step, and being unable to recover himself, he fell over the brink of the masonry, and among the rocks on the west side. As it was low water at the time, he received no serious injury. He dislocated his thumb, however, and as medical assistance was not available, he set it himself,--afterwards returning to his work. The incident is characteristic of the firmness and resolution which Smeaton exhibited throughout his busy career.

[Sidenote: Building the light tower.]

The ninth course was laid on the 30th of September, and concluded the operations for the year.

On the 12th of May 1758, Smeaton and his "merry men" returned to the lonely wave-washed rock, and were delighted to find their work intact. The cement seemed to have become as hard as the stone itself, from which, indeed, it was scarcely distinguishable.

Lusty arms and willing hearts made rapid progress; and by September, the twenty-fourth course was reached and laid. It completed the "solid" part of the building, and was designed to form the floor of the store-room; so that Smeaton had good reason to be satisfied with the progress made. But he knew how great an advantage it would be to exhibit a light in the coming winter; and therefore he resolved on completing the storeroom, if within the range of the possible, and planting a light above it.

The building had hitherto been carried up as a solid mass of masonry, like a breakwater or seawall, to a height of 35 feet 4 inches above its base, and 27 feet above the summit of the rock. It was now reduced to 16 feet in diameter. Of this limited space it was needful to make good use, so far as was consistent with the primary and indispensable condition of strength. The rooms were built with a diameter of 12 feet 4 inches, the walls being 2 feet 2 inches thick. These walls were built up of single blocks, and so shaped that a complete circle was formed by sixteen pieces, which were bound together with strong iron clamps, and secured to the lower courses by marble plugs in the fashion already described. That no damp might make its way through the vertical joints, flat stones were introduced into each, in such a manner as to be lodged partly in one block and partly in another. With all these careful and ingenious contrivances, the twenty-eighth course was completely set by the 30th of September.

[Sidenote: Progress of the work.]

This and the next course received the vaulted flooring, which answered the double purpose of the ceiling of the lower and the floor of the upper store-rooms. For additional security, a deep groove was here cut into the outer surface of the course, in which a massive iron chain was embedded in molten lead. The next course was laid and set after the same pattern; and by the 10th of October Smeaton had nearly completed his arrangements for establishing a light and lightkeepers at the Eddystone, when they were interrupted by legal difficulties, which had arisen between the lessee of the rock and the Trinity House Corporation.

These were not settled until the following year, so that Smeaton was unable to resume operations before the 5th of July. He worked, however, with so much vigour that the second stage was finished by the 21st; and on the 29th the fortieth course was set, and the third floor finished.

[Sidenote: "Laus Deo."]

The main column, or body, of the lighthouse was completed on the 17th of August, consisting of forty-six courses of masonry, and attaining an elevation of 70 feet. The last work done was singularly appropriate: the masons carved the words "Laus Deo" (Praise be to God!) on the last stone set above the lantern. All honest work should thus be dedicated to Him through whose infinite goodness we are permitted to achieve it. And, at an earlier date, Smeaton, in devout recognition of the Eternal Power, had inscribed on the course of masonry beneath the ceiling of the upper store-room, "Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it." It was in this spirit that the great engineer entered upon and accomplished his wonderful enterprises; and it is in this spirit that each of us should go through our daily toil, as if feeling ourselves ever in the immediate presence of our Father, and knowing that we strive, and endure, and hope, and suffer before his all-seeing eye.

The iron-work of the balcony and lantern were next erected, and the gracefully strong and massive structure was crowned by a gilded ball.

The interior of Smeaton's lighthouse was (and is) arranged as follows:--

[Sidenote: Interior of the lighthouse.]

On the ground-floor--Store-room, with a door-way, but no windows.

First stage, or story--Upper store-room, with two loopholed-windows.

Second stage--Kitchen, with fire-place and sink; two settles, with lockers; a dresser, with drawers; two cupboards; and a rack for dishes. Four windows.

Third stage--Bedroom, with three cabin-beds, each large enough for an adult; three drawers, and two lockers in each, to receive the clothing and other property of the light-keepers. Four windows.

Fourth--Lantern, with circular bench, or seat.

[Sidenote: A narrow escape.]

In fixing the window-bars, Smeaton met with an accident which might easily have been attended with fatal results. He thus describes the circumstances:--

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

Smeaton, however, was reserved for useful service; and on the 16th of October the welcome light shone once more from the dreaded Eddystone Rock. And the storm-tossed mariner, as he saw in the distance its helpful ray, and was guided by it how to steer his course, gratefully acknowledged the genius and resolution of the man who had raised it above the whirl of waters, and planted it in a tower so fair and strong.

[Sidenote: The light on the rock.]

For more than a century it has withstood the storm, an enduring monument to the fame of its great architect. At times, when the billows roll in from the Atlantic with more than ordinary fury, and the white-crested waters come up the Channel under the impulse of a south-west gale, the lighthouse is shrouded in spray, and its flame for a moment obscured. But the shadow passes away, and again across the wild waves it shines like a signal-star. Occasionally, when a mighty wave strikes it, the central mass of water runs up the tall, shapely column, and leaps quite over the lantern; or it beats against the masonry, as if to topple it from its foundation, and the windows rattle, and the building seems smitten with a sharp shudder. But the wind dies down, and the sea grows calm, leaving the lighthouse firmly planted on its rock.