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.