THE LONELY LIGHTS OF SCOTLAND
Barren ruggedness, ragged reefs, and towering cliffs form an apt
description of the north and west coasts of Scotland, and he is a
prudent navigator who acknowledges the respect which these shores
demand, by giving them a wide berth. The Norwegian coast is serrated,
the island of Newfoundland may be likened to the battered edge of a
saw, but Scotland is unique in its formation. The coastline is torn
and tattered by bays and firths, with scattered outlying ramparts. The
captain of a “tramp” who has sailed the seven seas once confessed to me
that no stretch of coastline ever gave him the shivers so badly as the
stretch of shore between Duncansby Head and the Mull of Kintyre.
Certainly a ship “going north about” is menaced every mile of her way
between these two points unless she takes a very circuitous course.
If the weather conditions are favourable and daylight prevails, the
North of Britain may be rounded through the narrow strait washing the
mainland and the Orkney Islands, but the Pentland Firth is not an
attractive short-cut. The ships that run between Scandinavian ports and
North America naturally follow this route, as it is several hundred
miles shorter than that via the North Sea and English Channel; but they
keep a sharp eye on the weather and are extremely cautious. When the
Pentland Firth is uninviting, they may either choose the path between
the Orkneys and the Shetlands, or, to eliminate every element of risk,
may stand well out to sea, and round the most northern stretches of the
Shetlands. These are lonely seas, comparatively speaking, and yet are
well lighted. Although a wicked rock lies in the centre of the eastern
entrance to the Pentland channel, it is indicated by the Pentland
Skerries light. When the mariner in his wisdom pushes still farther
north, he falls within the glare of the rays thrown from the beacon
near Muckle Flugga. This is the northernmost point of the British
Islands, and it is truly forbidding. The rock lies three-quarters of a
mile off the Shetland Islands, and is a huge fang, sheering to a height
of 196 feet above high-water. On the side facing north it rears up so
abruptly that it appears to lean over, while on the opposite side it is
almost as steep.
The majority of lighthouses have been called into existence by the
claims of commerce purely and simply. But it was not so with the North
Unst lighthouse, as the beacon crowning this pinnacle is called. War
was responsible for its creation, though probably sooner or later the
requirements of peace would have brought about a similar result. While
the armies of France and Britain were fighting the Russians in the
Crimea, the British fleet was hovering about these waters, watching
the mouth of the Baltic, so as to frustrate any attempts on the part
of the Russian fleet to dash around the northern coast of Scotland.
In those days these lonely seas were badly lighted, and the Admiralty
realized only too well the many perils to which the warships were
exposed while cruising about the pitiless coasts of the Orkneys and
Shetlands. Accordingly, the department called upon the Commissioners of
Northern Lighthouses to mark Muckle Flugga. Time was everything, and
the engineers were urged to bring a temporary light into operation with
the least delay.
The engineers hurriedly evolved a tower which would meet the Government
needs. It was thought that the extreme height of the rock would lend
itself to the erection of a building which, while possible of early
completion, would be adequate for subsequent purposes. The materials
for the light, together with a lantern, and a second building for the
storage of the oil and other requisites, were shipped northward from
Glasgow. Simultaneously the engineers, with another small gang of
men who had already reached the rock, pushed on with the preliminary
preparations, so that when the constructional vessel arrived erection
might go ahead straightforwardly and rapidly.
[Illustration:
_By permission of the Lighthouse Literature Mission._
THE DHU-HEARTACH LIGHTHOUSE.
To the left is the lower part of the temporary structure in which the
builders lived while erection was in progress.]
The engineers tried the rock from all sides to find a safe landing.
This was no light matter, owing to the steepness of the slope even upon
the easiest face of the pinnacle. The attempt represented a mild form
of mountaineering, for the sea had battered away the projection of the
lower-lying levels, and the men found it trying to effect a foothold,
even in stepping from the boat on to the rock. They had to climb hand
over hand up the precipice, with life-lines round their waists, taking
advantage of every narrow ledge. With infinite labour they gained the
summit, and then they found that there was just sufficient space, and
no more, upon which to plant the lighthouse buildings.
The top was cleared quickly, and then the advance party set to work
to improve the landing-place on the south side of the rock for the
reception of the building materials. A small site was prepared with
great difficulty, as the tough rock offered a stern resistance to the
chisels, drills, and wedges; while in addition the men had to cut steps
in the flank of the rock to facilitate the ascent to the site.
On September 14, 1854, the constructional vessel _Pharos_ hove in
sight, and, the weather being favourable, the landing of the material
was hurried forward. The men had to become pack-animals for the
time, carrying the loads on their backs. In this manner they tramped
laboriously up and down the cliff-face with material and stores of all
descriptions. The heavier and bulkier parts were hauled up by rope and
tackle, a few feet at a time, and this task was quite as exacting.
In all, 120 tons were conveyed to the top of the crag. Construction
was hastened just as feverishly, and on October 11, 1854, twenty-six
days after the _Pharos_ anchored off Muckle Flugga, the North Unst
light shone out for the first time. This is probably one of the most
brilliant exploits that has ever been consummated in connection with
lighthouse engineering, the merit of which is additionally impressive
from the fact that almost everything had to be accomplished by manual
effort.
While the light was admittedly of a temporary character, the importance
of the outpost had been appreciated, and it was determined to erect a
permanent light upon the rock for the guidance of those who compass
the North of Scotland in order to pass from and to the North Atlantic.
It was decided to commence the permanent masonry building the
following year, and a gang of men volunteered to stay behind on the
rock throughout the winter to complete all the essential preparations
for the foundations. Accommodation was available for this staff in a
substantial iron shelter, in which they made themselves comfortable for
the winter.
But it is during this season that the winds from the north, lashing
the sea to fury, create huge rollers which thunder upon the base
of the pinnacle to crawl up its perpendicular face in the form of
broken water and spray. The men standing on the brink often watched
these rollers, but never for a moment thought that one would be able
to leap to a height of nearly 200 feet and sweep over the rock. The
December gales dispelled this illusion very convincingly. One morning
the workmen, while breakfasting in their warm shelter, received a
big surprise. A terrific blow struck the door, which flew open as if
hit by a cannon-ball. It was followed instantly by a three-foot wall
of water. The broken wave rushed round the apartment, seething and
foaming, and then out again. The workmen were dumbfounded, but had
scarcely recovered from the shock when another roll of water came
crashing in and gave the apartment another thorough flushing out. One
of the Scottish workmen vouchsafed the remark that the man responsible
for cleaning the floors that day would be spared his job, but he was
silenced when, a few seconds later, another angry sheet of water
dropped on the roof of the building and threatened to smash it in.
[Illustration: THE NORTH UNST, BRITAIN’S MOST NORTHERLY LIGHT.
The tower is perched on the top of a precipitous crag, the light being
260 feet above the sea. Despite this height, the waves often dash over
the lantern.]
The closing month of that year was particularly boisterous. Time after
time when the sea rose, the lighthouse tower was drenched in water. One
might think it impossible that a wave could get up sufficient impetus
to mount a height of 200 feet; but this experience offered conclusive
testimony to the contrary and to the immense power of the waves when
they have an uninterrupted run over several hundred miles of open ocean.
In a way, the terrifying experience of these marooned workmen was
invaluable. They reported the bare facts to the engineers upon the
first opportunity, and this intelligence brought about a revision in
the designs for the permanent masonry structure.
The present North Unst lighthouse is a massive masonry building,
standing in the centre of the small flat space on the top of the
pinnacle, with heavy masonry walls bounding it on all sides. The tower
is 64 feet in height, while the red and white light may be seen from a
distance of twenty-one miles in clear weather. That the winter storms
of 1854 were by no means exceptional has been proved up to the hilt on
several occasions since. When the nor’-wester is roused thoroughly,
the breaking waves curl up the cliff and rush over the lantern. Such a
climb of 260 feet conveys a compelling notion of the force of the sea.
The weight of the water thrown into the air has threatened to overthrow
the massive boundary walls, while now and again the invader leaves
tangible evidences of its power by smashing the windows of the lantern.
Upon one occasion it burst open the heavy door, which weighs the best
part of a ton.
The light-station is served by four keepers, two on duty
simultaneously, their homes being on the island of Unst, four miles
away. For the conveyance of water, fuel, provisions, and other
requirements, from the landing-stage to the lighthouse 200 feet above,
an inclined railway has been provided on the easier slope, so that the
men are no longer called upon to pack their provisions, like mules,
from the water-level up a steep cliff, as was formerly required.
Rounding these island dangers, the navigator picks up the light of Cape
Wrath, glimmering from a height of 370 feet above the water-level and
standing at the western corner of the rectangular head of the Scottish
mainland. Going south, he has two passages available--the inner, which
extends through the Minches and inside the Hebrides; or the outer,
which lies beyond the latter rampart. In making the outer passage he
comes within range of the light shining from the summit of a lonely
group of rocks standing some twenty-two miles out to sea off the Isle
of Lewis. These are the Flannen Islands, or Seven Hunters, one of many
similar lonely Scottish stations. The tower is mounted upon the crown
of one of the highest points, and the white group-flashing light is
visible over a radius of twenty-four miles. Farther south the seafarer
picks up and drops the Monach Islands light, likewise lying out in the
Atlantic, some ten miles from the nearest land. Finally, rounding Barra
Head, the most southerly point of the reef lying off Barra Island, the
light from which is cast 580 feet above the water owing to the height
of the cliff, the vessel slips into a huge indentation, where isolated
rocks peep above the Atlantic, one of the most dangerous of which is
indicated by the Skerryvore lighthouse.
I have described the Skerryvore light in the previous chapter; but
nineteen and a half miles to the south-east of the latter is another
reef, just as exposed, which is as perilous in every respect. Indeed,
it may be said to constitute a greater menace to the navigation of
these waters, since it lies in the cross-roads of the entrance to the
Irish Channel, the Firth of the Clyde, and the Minches. A powerful
light mounts guard on the Rhins of Islay, twenty-seven miles due south,
but between the latter and Skerryvore there are forty-three miles of
coast, as dangerous as the mariner could wish to avoid, with this rock
looming up almost halfway.
This peril is the Dhu-Heartach, lying out to sea in deep water,
fourteen miles from the nearest point of the mainland. The physical
configuration of the sea-bed at this point is somewhat similar to
that prevailing at Skerryvore. The Ross of Mull tumbles abruptly into
the Atlantic, to reappear out to sea in the form of the Torrin Rocks,
which run for a distance of four and a half miles in the direction of
Dhu-Heartach. Then the reef comes to a sudden stop, to be seen once
more, nine miles farther out, in the rounded hump of Dhu-Heartach,
this being practically the outermost point of the ridge. Being so
isolated and projecting so suddenly from deep water, this ledge claimed
many victims among the vessels frequenting these unlighted waters. The
Commissioners of Northern Lighthouses were assailed for not marking the
danger spot in some form or other. The authorities, however, were fully
alive to the need of such protection, but it was not until 1867 that
they were able to proceed with the erection of a lighthouse.
The situation is peculiar, and the engineers, Messrs. D. and T.
Stevenson, were faced with a somewhat perplexing problem recalling
those which had arisen in conjunction with the Skerryvore, not
far distant. Indeed, the Dhu-Heartach undertaking might very well
be described as a repetition of those struggles, with a few more
difficulties of a different character thrown in. The rock itself in
reality is a series of islets, or hummocks, surrounding the main
hump, which is 240 feet in length by 130 feet in breadth, the highest
point of the rounded top being 35 feet above high-water at ordinary
spring-tides. On all sides the lead marks very deep water, the result
being that in times of storm and tempest the rollers of the Atlantic,
having a “fetch” of some 3,000 miles or more, thunder upon it with
terrific force, the broken water leaping high into the air. It is very
seldom that the rock can be approached even in a small boat and with a
calm sea, as the hump is invariably encircled in a scarf of ugly surf.
The swell strikes the western face of the rock, is divided, flows round
the northern and southern ends of the obstruction, and reunites on
the eastern side. Consequently the rock is nearly always a centre of
disturbance.
The distance of the rock from the mainland complicated the issue very
materially. A suitable site had to be prepared on shore as a base,
where the stones could be prepared for shipment, while a special
steam-tender was necessary to run to and fro. The handling of the
workmen had to be carried out upon the lines which were adopted at
Skerryvore--namely, the erection of a barrack upon a skeleton framework
on the rock, where the men might be left safely for days or weeks at
a time. The shore station selected was at Earraid, on the neighbouring
island of Mull, because it was the nearest strategical point to the
work, and because ample supplies of first-class granite were available
in the immediate vicinity, the proprietor, the Duke of Argyll, as in
the previous instance, facilitating the work as far as possible.
The authority to commence operations was given on March 11, 1867,
and this year was devoted to completing preparations, so that in the
following season work might be started in earnest and carried on
throughout the summer at high pressure. The first task was the erection
of the barrack on the rock. The workmen got ashore for the first time
on June 25, 1867, and, although landing at all times was trying and
perilous, attempts often having to be abandoned owing to the swell,
the engineer succeeded in landing twenty-seven times up to September
3, when work had to be suspended until the following year. Despite
the shortness of the season, the men made appreciable headway. The
iron framework of the barrack was completed to the first tier, while
a good beginning was made upon the rock-face in connection with the
foundations for the lighthouse. When the autumnal gales approached,
everything in connection with the barrack was left secure, the builders
being anxious to ascertain how it would weather the winter gales and
the force and weight of the waves which bore down upon it.
The engineers finally decided upon a tower 107½ feet in height. After
trying various curves for the outline, they came to the decision that a
parabolic frustum would afford the most serviceable design, as well as
providing the maximum of strength. A diameter of 36 feet was chosen for
the base, tapering gradually and gracefully to one of 16 feet at the
top, with the entrance 32 feet above the base, to which point the cone
was to be solid.
The arrangements were that work should be resumed in the early spring
of 1868, so as to secure full advantage of the favourable easterly
winds. Accordingly, when the special steam-tender arrived on April 14,
she was loaded up with necessaries and men, ready to proceed to the
site directly the wind should veer round to the desired point of the
compass. But with aggravating persistency it clung to the west and
south-west until the end of June, so that many valuable weeks were
unfortunately lost. Time after time, when there was a lull in the
weather, the steamer put out from Earraid, the engineers determined to
make a dash for the rock, and as many times they were foiled, as the
men could not be got through the surf. One day, however, an hour and
a half was snatched on the rock, and, although no work could be done
in that time, yet the interval was sufficient to enable the engineers
to take a look round and to see how their handiwork had withstood the
heavy gales of the previous winter. There was only one marked evidence
of the Atlantic’s wrath. One section of the iron ring connecting the
heads of the legs of the barrack at a height of 30 feet had been
carried away.
[Illustration:
_By permission of the Lighthouse Literature Mission._
THE NORTH UNST LIGHT.
The first light was built in twenty-six days during the Crimean War at
the British Government’s urgent request.]
[Illustration:
_By permission of the Lighthouse Literature Mission._
LANDING WATER AT THE NORTH UNST.
Showing tramway connecting with tower, 200 feet above.]
On June 29 the wind moderated sufficiently to enable the men to be
landed, but the climatic conditions remained adverse. The wind refused
to swing round to the east; a westerly swell was the luck day after
day. The engineers had to dodge the ocean as best they could, and some
idea of the handicap under which they laboured may be gathered from
the fact that only four landings were made during the sixty-one days
of May and June. July enabled the greatest number of landings to be
effected--thirteen; while during August and September the men only
gained the rock on twenty-one occasions, making a total of thirty-eight
landings in the course of 153 days.
During this interrupted season, however, the barrack was completed.
It was a massive structure, and resembled a huge iron barrel secured
endwise upon an intricate arrangement of stilts which were heavily
stayed and tied together by diagonals and cross-members. In the two
previous instances where a similar arrangement had been adopted the
temporary dwelling had been wrought in wood, but on this occasion
the engineers decided to adopt iron, as they concluded that a wooden
structure would not fare well against the heavy seas. This was
a fortunate decision, because, as subsequent experience proved, a
wooden barrack would have received very short shrift from the Atlantic
breakers; in fact, probably it would have gone down with the first
sou’-wester. The iron barrack, as the workmen narrated, was pounded and
battered by the waves most unmercifully; but although it suffered at
times, quivering and shaking under the terrific impacts, it weathered
all the onslaughts.
One interesting incident serves to illustrate the perils to which the
workmen were exposed. A date had been set down when all the men were to
be brought off the rock for the season, as the approach of the equinox
rendered further toil extremely doubtful, and there was no intention of
unduly imperilling them. The engineer’s resident representative, Mr.
Alexander Brebner, went out to the rock on August 20, the day fixed for
the suspension of operations, to inspect the progress that had been
made and to have a last look round. At the time of his arrival the
weather was beautifully calm, and held out every promise of remaining
settled for several days. As the season had been so adverse, he
decided, on his own responsibility, to delay the cessation of toil, so,
with the thirteen men, he remained on the rock, determined to make up
leeway somewhat while the weather held out.
[Illustration:
_By permission of the Lighthouse Literature Mission._
THE FLANNEN ISLANDS LIGHT STATION.
One of Scotland’s lonely beacons. It marks a group of islets 15 miles
off the Hebrides. In 1900 the three keepers mysteriously disappeared,
and their fate remains unsolved to this day.]
But the resident paid the penalty for his disobedience. The little
party retired that night with the stars shining brilliantly overhead
from a cloudless sky, and with the sea like a mirror. In the middle
of the night one and all were roused suddenly from their slumbers.
The wind was roaring, and the breakers were hammering upon the
rock, while the foam and surf rushed violently between the legs of
the barracks. When the men looked out they were confronted with a
terrifying spectacle. The night was black as pitch, but the sea white
as a snow-covered plain, from the crests of the rollers and the surf
playing on and around the rocks. A furious gale had sprung up with the
characteristic suddenness of the Atlantic, and was already raging. The
next morning no one dared to venture outside the iron home, while the
gale, instead of abating, appeared to be increasing in fury. For five
days the men were held fast, and at times their fears got the better of
them. This was particularly the case when, now and again, a more than
ugly wave got up, rolled over the rock, and crashed with full force
against the barrack. The building shook and trembled fearfully, but
its legs were driven too deeply into the rock for it to be overturned,
while the cross-bracing was too intricate for the legs to be snapped
off. Again and again the men were plunged into darkness, as a wall of
water rushed right over the drum, notwithstanding that the roof was 77
feet above high-water.
Their fears rose almost to frenzy when a breaker, leaping the rock,
drove full tilt against the floor of the barrack. In this upward rush
of 55 feet the building suffered. The men’s entrance to the home was
by means of a heavy hatch, or trapdoor, which was bolted securely upon
the inside. This particular comber burst in the hatch as if it were no
thicker than the wood of a matchbox, flooding the whole compartment.
Meantime the engineer-in-chief at Edinburgh had heard of the incident.
He had given strict instructions that the men should be brought off on
August 20, and when the intelligence was communicated to him that his
order had been disobeyed, and that his men were in serious straits,
he became distracted. He knew only too well how the waves bombard
Dhu-Heartach. Mr. David Stevenson related to me how his father paced
the offices during the day, and his own home at night, unable to drown
his thoughts in work or sleep. His worry was intensified as the true
character of the gale came to his ears. He had planned everything
with such care that neither life nor limb of a single workman need
be jeopardized, and here he was confronted with the possibility of
losing fourteen men at one stroke! The iron barrack, although staunchly
constructed, was just as likely as not to succumb to the full brunt of
a very vicious sou’-wester, so there was every excuse for his anxiety.
He gave orders that the steam-tender was to stand by with steam raised,
so as to make a dash for the rock upon the first opportunity. No one
had a moment’s peace until at last the news came through that the
steam-tender had been out to the rock, and with much difficulty had
got hold of the fourteen men and brought them ashore, somewhat scared
and bearing evidences of their experience, but unharmed. Mr. Stevenson
told me that he could not quite say which was worse--the distracted
wanderings of his father, or the expression of his pent-up feelings
when he met the unfortunate resident a few days later, who was taken
severely to task for his flagrant breach of orders, whereby the lives
of the workmen had been imperilled so unnecessarily.
The year 1869 was kinder to the engineers, and great headway was made.
The men were able to make their first landing on the rock as early
as March 25, and it was accessible up to October 29, when all forces
withdrew from the scene for the winter. During this period sixty
landings were effected, while heavy supplies of masonry and other
materials were shipped to the site. The masons took up their permanent
residence in the barrack on April 26, and did not leave it until
September 3, while they were able to squeeze in 113 days of toil, with
a welcome rest from their labours on Sundays. The excavations for the
foundations were completed speedily, and on June 24 the erection of
the tower was commenced. The stones were brought ready for setting in
position, and were laid so rapidly that by the end of the month two
courses were completed and the third had been well advanced. Then came
a temporary setback. A blusterous summer gale sprang up, and the sea,
after assaulting the rock for two days, succeeded in leaving its mark.
The crane and other tackle at the landing-stage were washed away, while
fourteen stones laid in the third course were uprooted, of which eleven
were seen no more. The water in this case had to leap upwards for 35½
feet, while the stones which it carried away weighed 2 tons apiece, and
were firmly joggled, so that the wrench which displaced them must have
been terrific indeed.
If a summer gale could wreak such damage, what was the dreaded equinox
likely to achieve? The engineers were so much impressed that they
thereupon made assurance doubly sure by effecting a modification of the
original plans. When the work was commenced, it was intended to take
the solid part of the tower up to a height of 52 feet 10 inches above
high-water. The effects of this summer gale induced them to continue
the solid section a further 11½ feet, so that the entrance level is 64
feet 4 inches above high-water mark. The result is that the solid base
of the Dhu-Heartach tower weighs no less than 1,840 tons--more than
one-half the total weight of the structure--and is executed throughout
in massive blocks of grey granite.
The tower contains six floors above the entrance hall, these, on
ascending the spiral staircase, being as follows: oil-store, kitchen,
provision-store, bedroom, dry-room, and light-room. The masonry part
of the work was completed by the end of the season of 1871, and the
first-order dioptric, fixed, white light was exhibited on November
1, 1872. The focal plane, being 145 feet above the water-level, has
a range of eighteen nautical miles. The total cost of the work was
£76,084, or $380,420, of which sum the shore station was responsible
for £10,300, or $51,500.
The ocean made an attempt to defeat the workmanship and skill of the
engineers in the very winter following the opening of the lighthouse.
On the lee side of the tower there is a copper lightning-conductor, 1
inch thick by 1½ inches wide, which is let into a channel cut in the
stonework, so that it comes flush with the face of the building. This
conductor is fixed at intervals of 5 feet in a substantial manner. The
winter storms of 1872 tore some 10 feet out of this channel near the
base of the structure, and wrenched the screws from their sockets;
while at the kitchen window level, which is 92 feet above high-water,
the rod was similarly disturbed for some distance. It will be seen that
the waves which assail Dhu-Heartach are by no means to be despised.