THE BELL ROCK AND SKERRYVORE LIGHTS
At first sight it seems somewhat remarkable--some might feel disposed
to challenge the assertion--that so small a country as Scotland
should stand pre-eminent among the nations of the world as being that
possessed of the greatest number of imposing sea-rock lights. But such
is the case. Moreover, North Britain offers some of the finest and most
impressive specimens of the lighthouse builder’s resource and skill to
be found in any part of the globe.
When the responsibility for lighting the Scottish coasts was handed
over to the Commissioners for Northern Lighthouses, one of their first
tasks was the adequate illumination of the wave-swept Inchcape or Bell
Rock, which lies some twelve miles off the Scottish mainland in the
busy portal of the Firth of Tay. At that time this sinister menace
to navigation was not marked in any way whatever, and apparently had
remained in this unprotected condition ever since the notorious pirate,
Ralph the Rover, cut away the buoy-bell which had been placed upon it
by the Abbot of Aberbrothock, as narrated in Southey’s famous ballad.
The rock, or rather reef--inasmuch as it measures 2,000 feet from end
to end, and lies athwart the fairway--is submerged completely to a
depth of 16 feet at high spring-tides, while at lowest water only some
4 feet of its crest are laid bare here and there. This is not all. The
ledge is the summit of a dangerous, slowly-rising submarine hillock,
where, for a distance of about 100 yards on either side, the lead
sounds only 3 fathoms. Wrecks were so numerous and terrible at this
spot that the protection of the seafaring community became imperative,
and the newly-appointed guardians of the Scottish coast lost no time
in justifying the trust reposed in them, but erected a first-class
light. The Eddystone had been conquered, and, although the conditions
were dissimilar and the enterprise bolder, no tangible reason against
its imitation was advanced.
The engineer John Rennie was entrusted with the work, while Robert
Stevenson was appointed as his assistant. The rock was surveyed, and
a tower similar in its broad lines to that evolved by Smeaton for the
Eddystone was elaborated, and the authority for its construction given
in the year 1806.
Work upon the rock in the earliest stages was confined to the calmest
days of the summer season, when the tides were lowest, the water was
smoothest, and the wind in its calmest mood. Under such conditions the
men were able to stay on the site for about five hours. The engineer
hoped against hope that the elements would be kind to him, and that he
would be able to complete the preliminary work upon the rock in one
season.
The constructional plans were prepared carefully, so that advantage
might be taken of every promising opportunity. One distinct drawback
was the necessity to establish a depot some distance from the erecting
site. Those were the days before steam navigation, and the capricious
sailing craft offered the only means of maintaining communication
between rock and shore, and for the conveyance of men and material
to and fro. The year 1807 was devoted to the construction of vessels
for the work, and to the establishment of workshops with machinery
and other facilities at Arbroath, the nearest suitable point on the
mainland to the rock. A temporary beacon was placed on the reef, while
adjacent to the site selected for the tower a smith’s forge was made
fast, so as to withstand the dragging motion of the waves when the
rock was submerged. The men were housed on the _Smeaton_, which during
the spells of work on the rock rode at anchor a short distance away in
deep water. The arrangements stipulated that three boats, which were
employed to bring the men from the vessel to the rock, should always
be moored at the landing-place, so that, in the event of the weather
changing for the worse, the masons, forced to cease work suddenly,
might regain the _Smeaton_ safely in one trip, the three boats being
able to convey thirty men, which constituted the average complement on
the rock.
While the preparations were proceeding ashore, a little body of workers
toiled, whenever possible, at clearing the face of the rock and
carrying out the requisite excavation work. While this was in progress
a disaster was averted very narrowly, which would have jeopardized the
completion of the tower, owing to the superstitious natures of the men
engaged. On September 2, 1807, the _Smeaton_, as usual, had brought out
some thirty masons, had landed them safely on the rock, and was riding
at anchor.
Suddenly the wind freshened, and the engineer on the rock grew
apprehensive of the _Smeaton_ dragging her cables. A party at once put
off from the rock in one of the three boats and regained the ship, but
were scarcely aboard when the cables parted, and the vessel, caught by
the wind and tide, made off. Before the men regained control of her
she had drifted some three miles to leeward. Meantime on the rock the
situation was growing serious. Only Mr. Stevenson, who was supervising
operations on the spot, and the landing-master were aware of its
gravity. The masons were so busy hewing, boring and chiselling, that
they had not noticed the _Smeaton’s_ drift. But the engineer, observing
the flowing of the tide, realized that the rock must be submerged
before the ship could be brought up again. He racked his brains to find
some means of getting his gang of men off safely in the nick of time,
but it was a searching problem to solve with only two boats, which, at
the utmost, could carry twenty-four persons. To make matters worse, one
of those mists which are so peculiar to the Scottish coast began to
settle down, blotting everything from sight.
The water rose higher. The men toiling on the lowest levels receded
higher and higher before the advancing tide, though still too deeply
occupied in their labours to bestow a thought upon the _Smeaton_.
At last the smith’s forge was quenched, and this was the general
signal to the men to prepare to leave the rock. Tools were collected,
and the party strode towards the landing-stage to enter the boats.
Conceive their consternation when they saw that one boat was missing!
When they glanced over the water the _Smeaton_ was not riding in her
usual place--in fact, was nowhere to be seen! One and all gathered
around the engineer to learn the reason for this remarkable breach in
the arrangements for their safety, and yet all were too dumbfounded
to question or protest. As for the luckless engineer, he was at his
wits’ end and could not offer a word of explanation to the inquiring
looks that besieged him. One and all, as the water lapped their feet,
realized the hopelessness of the position. Suddenly, when they were
beginning to despair, one of the men described the phantom form of a
vessel making for the rock. “A boat!” he shouted in exultation. Sure
enough the shadow matured into the familiar form of the Tay pilot-boat,
the master of which, observing the workmen on the rock, the rising
tide, and the absence of the _Smeaton_, had realized that something
must have gone wrong, and approached the rock to make inquiries. He
came up at the critical moment. The men were drenched, and, their
feelings having been strung to a high pitch with anxiety, they nearly
collapsed at the arrival of this unexpected assistance. The pilot-boat,
after taking off the men, awaited the return of the _Smeaton_, which
took them on board about midnight.
This narrow escape so terrified the men that on the following day the
engineer found only eight of his staff of thirty-two, who were willing
to venture upon the rock again. When this gang returned in the evening,
their safety appeared to restore courage to their companions, so that
next day all expressed their readiness to resume their tasks.
The fitful character of the work did not leave its mark so distinctly
as might be supposed. Whenever there was a chance, the men worked with
an amazing will and zeal; and although the first stone of the tower was
not laid until July 10, 1808, three courses of masonry were completed
when the undertaking was suspended at the end of November for the
winter. The succeeding season’s toil saw the addition of about 27 feet
more of the tower, which was finally completed by the close of 1810.
The building was 120 feet in height, and the light was shown for the
first time on February 1, 1811.
In view of the difficulties which had to be surmounted, this “ruddy
gem of changeful light,” as it is described by Sir Walter Scott, was
not particularly costly. By the time it was brought into commission,
£61,330, or $306,650, had been expended. In 1902, after nearly a
century’s service, the tower was provided with a new light-room, so as
to bring it into conformity with modern practice.
While the Bell Rock tower stands as a monument to the engineering
ability of Robert Stevenson, the Skerryvore, on the western coast, is
a striking tribute to the genius of his son, Alan. For forty years or
more previous to 1844 one ship at least had been caught and shattered
every year on this tumbled mass of gneiss. From the navigator’s point
of view, the danger of this spot lay chiefly in the fact that it was so
widely scattered. The ridge runs like a broken backbone for a distance
of some eight miles in a west-south-westerly direction, and it is
flanked on each side by isolated rocks which jut from a badly-broken
sea-bed. The whole mass lies some distance out to sea, being ten miles
south-west of Tyree and twenty-four miles west of Iona. In rough
weather the whole of the rocks are covered, and the waves, beating
heavily on the mass, convert the scene into one of indescribable tumult.
The Commissioners of Northern Lights acknowledged the urgent need of
a light upon this ridge, but it was realized that its erection would
represent the most daring feat of lighthouse engineering that had been
attempted up to this time. There was only one point where a tower
could be placed, and this was so exposed that the safe handling of the
men and materials constituted a grave responsibility. The rock has to
withstand the full impetus of the Atlantic waves, gathered in their
3,000 miles’ roll, and investigations revealed the fact that they bear
down upon the Skerryvore with a force equal to some 3 tons per square
foot. It was apparent that any masonry tower must be of prodigious
strength to resist such a battering, while at the same time a lofty
stack was imperative, because the light not only would have to mount
guard over the rock upon which it stood, but also over a vast stretch
of dangerous water on either side.
After he had completed the Bell Rock light, Robert Stevenson attacked
the problem of the Skerryvore. In order to realize the magnitude of the
undertaking, some of the Commissioners accompanied the engineer, but
the experience of pulling out into the open Atlantic on a day when it
was slightly ruffled somewhat shook their determination to investigate
the reef from close quarters. Sir Walter Scott was a member of the
party, and he has described the journey very graphically. Before they
had gone far the Commissioners on board expressed their willingness to
leave the matter entirely in the hands of their engineer. With grim
Scottish humour, however, Robert Stevenson insisted that the rock
should be gained, so that the Commissioners might be able to grasp the
problem at first hand.
But after all nothing was done. The difficulties surrounding the work
were only too apparent to the officials. They agreed that the expense
must be prodigious and that the risks to the workmen would be grave.
In 1834 a second expedition was despatched to the reef under Alan
Stevenson, who had accompanied his father on the previous occasion,
and who now occupied the engineering chair. He surveyed the reef
thoroughly, traversing the dangerous channels around the isolated
humps, of which no less than 130 were counted, at great risk to himself
and his companions. However, he achieved his object. He discovered the
best site for the tower and returned home to prepare his plans.
His proposals, for those days, certainly were startling. He decided to
follow generally the principles of design, which had been laid down
by his father in regard to the Bell Rock. But he planned something
bigger and more daring. He maintained that a tower 130 feet high, with
a base diameter of 42 feet, tapering in a curve to 16 feet at the top,
was absolutely necessary. It was the loftiest and weightiest work of
its character that had ever been contemplated up to this time, while
the peculiar situation of the reef demanded pioneering work in all
directions.
[Illustration:
_By permission of the Lighthouse Literature Mission._
THE SKERRYVORE, SCOTLAND’S MOST FAMOUS LIGHTHOUSE.
The erection of this tower upon a straggling low-lying reef 24 miles
off Iona, and exposed to the full fury of the Atlantic, ranks as one of
the world’s engineering wonders.]
The confidence of the Commissioners in the ability of their engineer
was so complete that he received the official sanction to begin, and in
1838 the undertaking was commenced. The engineer immediately formulated
his plans of campaign for a stiff struggle with Nature. One of the
greatest difficulties was the necessity to transport men, supplies
and material over a long distance, as the Scottish coast in this
vicinity is wild and sparsely populated. He established his base on the
neighbouring island of Tyree, where barracks for the workmen, and yards
for the preparation of the material, were erected, while another colony
was established on the Isle of Mull for the quarrying of the granite.
A tiny pier or jetty had to be built at this point to facilitate the
shipment of the stone, and at Tyree a small harbour had to be completed
to receive the vessel which was built specially for transportation
purposes between the base and the rock.
Another preliminary was the provision of accommodation for the masons
upon the reef. The Atlantic swell, which rendered landing on the
ridge precarious and hazardous, did not permit the men to be housed
upon a floating home, as had been the practice in the early days
of the Bell Rock tower. In order to permit the work to go forward
as uninterruptedly as the sea would permit, a peculiar barrack was
erected. It was a house on stilts, the legs being sunk firmly into the
rock, with the living-quarters perched some 40 feet up in the air. The
skeleton type of structure was selected because it did not impede the
natural movement of the waves. It was an ingenious idea, and fulfilled
the purpose of its designer admirably, while the men became
accustomed to their strange home after a time. For two years it
withstood the seas without incident, and the engineer and men came to
regard the eyrie as safe as a house on shore. But one night the little
colony received a shock. The angry Atlantic got one or two of its
trip-hammer blows well home, and smashed the structure to fragments.
Fortunately, at the time it was untenanted.
The workmen, who were on shore waiting to go out to the rock to resume
their toil, were downcast at this unexpected disaster, but the engineer
was not at all ruffled. He promptly sent to Glasgow for further
material, and lost no time in rebuilding the quaint barrack upon new
and stronger lines. This erection defied the waves successfully until
its demolition after the Skerryvore was finished.
Residence in this tower was eerie. The men climbed the ladder
and entered a small room, which served the purposes of kitchen,
dining-room, and parlour. It was barely 12 feet across--quarters
somewhat cramped for thirty men. When a storm was raging, the waves,
as they combed over the rock, shook the legs violently and scurried
under the floor in seething foam. Now and again a roller, rising higher
than its fellows, broke upon the rock and sent a mass of water against
the flooring to hammer at the door. Above the living-room were the
sleeping-quarters, high and dry, save when a shower of spray fell upon
the roof and walls like heavy hail, and occasionally percolated the
joints of the woodwork. The men, however, were not perturbed. Sleeping,
even under such conditions, was far preferable to doubtful rest in a
bunk upon an attendant vessel, rolling and pitching with the motion of
the sea. They had had a surfeit of such experience during the first
season’s work, while the barrack was under erection.
[Illustration: BARRA HEAD LIGHTHOUSE, SCOTLAND.
The tower is 60 feet in height, but owing to its position on the
cliffs, the white occulting light is 683 feet above high water, and is
visible 33 miles.]
[Illustration:
By permission of the Lighthouse Literature Mission.
THE HOMES OF THE KEEPERS OF THE SKERRYVORE AND DHU-HEARTACH LIGHTS.
On the Island of Tiree, Argyllshire, 10 miles away.]
Yet the men could not grumble. The engineer responsible for the work
shared their privations and discomforts, for Alan Stevenson clung to
the rock night and day while work was in progress, and he has given a
very vivid impression of life in this quaint home on legs. He relates
how he “spent many a weary day and night--at those times when the
sea prevented anyone going down to the rock--anxiously looking for
supplies from the shore, and earnestly looking for a change of weather
favourable for prosecuting the works. For miles around nothing could be
seen but white foaming breakers, and nothing heard but howling winds
and lashing waves. At such seasons much of our time was spent in bed,
for there alone we had effectual shelter from the winds and spray,
which searched every cranny in the walls of the barrack. Our slumbers,
too, were at times fearfully interrupted by the sudden pouring of the
sea over the roof, the rocking of the house on its pillars, and the
spurting of water through the seams of the doors and windows--symptoms
which, to one suddenly aroused from sound sleep, recalled the appalling
fate of the former barrack, which had been engulfed in the foam not
20 yards from our dwelling, and for a moment seemed to summon us to a
similar fate.”
The work upon the rock was tedious and exasperating in the extreme. The
gneiss was of maddening hardness and obstinacy--“four times as tough
as Aberdeen granite” was the general opinion. The Atlantic, pounding
the rock continuously through the centuries, had faced it smoother than
could any mason with his tools, yet had not left it sufficiently sound
to receive the foundations. In the external layer, which the masons
laboured strenuously to remove with their puny tools, there were cracks
and crevices here and there. The stubborn rock played havoc with the
finest chisels and drills, and clearing had to be effected for the
most part by the aid of gunpowder. This powerful agent, however, could
only be used sparingly and with extreme skill, so that the rock-face
might not be shivered or shattered too severely. Moreover, the men ran
extreme risks, for the rock splintered like glass, and the flying chips
were capable of doing as much damage, when thus impelled, as a bullet.
While the foundations were being prepared, and until the barrack was
constructed, the men ran other terrible risks every morning and night
in landing upon and leaving the polished surface of the reef. Five
months during the summer was the working season, but even then many
days and weeks were often lost owing to the swell being too great to
permit the rowing-boat to come alongside. The engineer relates that
the work was “a good lesson in the school of patience,” because the
delays were frequent and galling, while every storm which got up and
expended its rage upon the reef left its mark indelibly among the
engineer’s stock-in-trade. Cranes and other material were swept away as
if they were corks; lashings, no matter how strong, were snapped like
pack-threads. Time after time the tender lying alongside had to weigh
anchor hurriedly, and make a spirited run to its haven at Tyree.
When the barrack was erected, the situation was eased somewhat, but
then the hours became long. Operations being confined to the summer
months, the average working day was from four in the morning until nine
in the evening--seventeen hours--with intervals for meals; but the men
were not averse to the prolonged daily toil, inasmuch as cessation
brought no welcome relaxations, but rather encouraged broodings over
their isolated position, whereas occupation served to keep the mind
engaged. Twice the men had severe frights during the night. On each
occasion a violent storm sprang up after they had gone to bed, and one
or two ugly breakers, getting their blows home, shook the eyrie with
the force of an earthquake. Every man leaped out of his bunk, and one
or two of the more timid, in their fright, hurried down the ladder and
spent the remaining spell of darkness shivering and quaking on the
completed trunk of the lighthouse, deeming it to be safer than the
crazy-looking structure which served as their home.
Two years were occupied upon the foundations, the first stone being
laid by the Duke of Argyll on July 7, 1840. This eminent personage
evinced a deep interest in the work and the difficulties which had to
be overcome, and as proprietor of the island of Tyree extended to the
Commissioners free permission to quarry any granite they required from
any part of his estate.
For a height of some 21 feet from the foundation level the tower is
a solid trunk of masonry. Then come the entrance and water-tanks,
followed by nine floors, comprising successively coal-store, workshop,
storeroom, kitchen, two bedrooms, library, oil-store, and light-room,
the whole occupying a height of 130 feet, crowned by the lantern.
As a specimen of lighthouse engineering, the Skerryvore has become
famous throughout the world. The stones forming the solid courses at
the bottom are attached to one another so firmly and ingeniously as
to secure the maximum of strength and solidity, the result being that
nothing short of an earthquake could overthrow the stalk of masonry.
The erection of the superstructure was by no means free from danger
and excitement. The working space both on the tower itself and around
the base was severely cramped. The men at the latter point had to
keep a vigilant eye upon those working above, since, despite the most
elaborate precautions, falls of tools and other heavy bodies were
by no means infrequent. Notwithstanding its perilous character, the
undertaking was free from accident and fatality, and, although the men
were compelled by force of circumstances to depend mostly upon salt
foodstuffs, the little colony suffered very slightly from the ravages
of dysentery.
Probably the worst experience was when the men on the rock were
weather-bound for seven weeks during one season. The weather broke
suddenly. Heavy seas and adverse winds raged so furiously that the
steamboat dared not put out of its haven, but remained there with steam
up, patiently waiting for a lull in the storm, during which they might
succour the unfortunate men on the reef. The latter passed a dreary,
pitiable time. Their provisions sank to a very low level, they ran
short of fuel, their sodden clothing was worn to rags, and, what was
far worse from their point of view, their tobacco became exhausted.
The average working man will tolerate extreme discomfort and privation
so long as the friendship of his pipe remains, but the denial of this
companion comes as the last straw.
The lantern is of special design, and is one of the most powerful
around the Scottish coasts. It is of the revolving class, reaching its
brightest state once every minute, and may be seen from the deck of a
vessel eighteen miles away Six years were occupied in the completion of
the work, and, as may be imagined, the final touches were welcomed with
thankfulness by all those who had been concerned in the enterprise. The
tower contains 4,308 tons of granite, and the total cost was £86,977,
or $434,885, rendering it one of the costliest in the world. This sum,
however, included the purchase of the steam-vessel which now attends
the lighthouse, and the construction of the little harbour at Hynish.
The lighthouse-keepers live on the island of Tyree, where are provided
substantial, spacious, single-floor, masonry dwellings with gardens
attached. This is practically a small colony in itself, inasmuch as
the accommodation includes, not only that for the keepers of the
Skerryvore, but for the guardians of the Dhu-Heartach light as well.