THE FASTNET, THE OUTPOST OF EUROPE
Four and a half miles out to sea, separated from Cape Clear, the most
south-westerly point of Ireland, by a treacherous channel, rises the
jagged, formidable shape of the Fastnet. To mariners the rock, with its
brilliant shaft of light by night, has developed into more than a mere
beacon. It is the first and last light of the Old World on the eastward
and westward passages across the Atlantic. All passing vessels are
“spoken” from this point to London, New York, and elsewhere.
It was in the early fifties of the past century that the engineer
conceived the idea of planting a light upon this lonely crag. Maritime
interests had agitated for a beacon for many years previously, since,
although a warning gleam was thrown from the station on Cape Clear,
this ray often was invisible, or partially obscured, owing to the
wreaths of cloud and mist which draped the summit of the headland.
The builder was Mr. George Halpin, engineer to the Port of Dublin
Corporation, which was responsible at that time for the illumination of
the shores of Ireland.
His task was not to be despised. The Fastnet itself is merely a
pinnacle, rising precipitously to a height of about 100 feet above
low-water, but it is the centre of many dangers. It is flanked on all
sides by needle-points and ridges; the currents run strongly, and the
tides are wicked, rendering approach uncertain even in the smoothest
weather.
The indefatigable engineer attacked his task boldly. He chose the
highest point of the rock as the site for his tower, which was a
cast-iron cylindrical building, 91 feet in height. The lantern was
equipped with a revolving apparatus which threw a flash of 38,000
candle-power for fifteen seconds once every two minutes from an
elevation of 148 feet, rotation being obtained through a belt and a
weight-driven clock. Its erection was a tedious undertaking; although
a start was made in 1848, it was not until January 1, 1854, that the
light first cast its welcome rays over the wastes of the Atlantic, by
which time £20,000, or $100,000, had been spent upon the undertaking.
[Illustration:
_From the “Scientific American.”_
BUILDING THE FASTNET ROCK LIGHTHOUSE.
Looking down from the top of the rock upon the men setting one of the
solid masonry courses.]
For ten years Halpin’s work successfully defied the elements, although
at times the keepers grew somewhat apprehensive concerning its
stability. Time after time, during heavy gales, it seemed as if it
must succumb to the storm. The waves curled up the cliff and struck
the tower with staggering force, causing it to tremble like a leaf.
On one occasion a cup of coffee standing upon the table was thrown to
the floor. While the shaft defied the most severe poundings, the cliff
itself gave way, and large masses of rock on which the tower stood were
carried away. One huge chunk, weighing some 3 tons, was detached, and,
as it slipped down, was picked up by the next incoming wave, to be
hurled with terrific force against the tower, but without inflicting
any marked damage. On another occasion a cask containing 60 gallons
of fresh water, which the keepers had made fast to the railing of the
gallery surrounding the lantern, 133 feet above the water, was wrenched
free by a wave which dashed over the rock, and was swept away as if it
were an empty tin. The keepers’ anxiety under these circumstances may
be understood.
At last, in April, 1865, the consulting engineer to the Corporation
visited the lighthouse in company with Mr. George Stevenson, the famous
Scottish lighthouse builder, to examine the rock thoroughly. The latter
suggested certain recommendations to insure the stability of the tower;
but when the sanction of the Brethren of Trinity House was sought, they
deferred a decision until their own engineer had visited the works,
although they appreciated Mr. Stevenson’s advice.
Some of the recommendations advanced by Mr. Stevenson were followed
subsequently, and this reluctant recognition of his knowledge
brought its reward. The authorities--now the Commissioners of Irish
Lights--had a fright in 1881. The storms of that winter were among
the heaviest that have ever assailed the British Islands. The Calf
Rock light, which was a similar tower to the Fastnet, and which had
been strengthened upon identical lines, came to grief. The tower was
broken off at the point where the reinforcement ceased. This disaster
naturally aroused many misgivings concerning the luck of the Fastnet.
Had it shared a similar fate during the same gale? To their intense
relief, the Commissioners found that it had issued from the conflict
with no more injuries than a few broken panes of glass.
The tower withstood the attacks of wind and wave successfully until
1891, when the Commissioners came to the conclusion that it was time
the Fastnet light was improved, to meet the requirements of the
busier mercantile traffic passing the point. Accordingly, Mr. William
Douglass, the engineer to the Commissioners, recommended a new tower,
fitted with the latest form of illumination, so as to bring it into
line with the other leading lights of the world. He advocated a tower
of masonry with the focal plane at an elevation of 159 feet; the shaft,
147 feet high, springing from a position 6 inches below high-water,
with a diameter at the base of 42 feet. The cost of the light was
estimated at £70,000 or $350,000.
One cannot help admiring the daring of the engineer, since he declined
to be assisted by the rock summit in his purpose. Instead he preferred
the ledge of a chasm on the hardest part of the rock below high-tide,
and directly exposed to the full force of the sea. He maintained that
such a tower, planted on this shelf, would receive the force of the
heaviest seas before they rose to their full height; also by building
the base of the tower in the form of steps, as in the case of a
breakwater, an excellent buffer would be offered to the rollers.
[Illustration: BUILDING THE FASTNET TOWER.
Showing derrick for setting the stones into position.]
[Illustration:
_The “Scientific American.”_
ERECTING THE FASTNET LANTERN.
This illustration gives a striking idea of its height.]
The new design came at an opportune moment. Another inspection of the
existing tower by Mr. C. W. Scott, the present engineer-in-chief
to the Commissioners, revealed a parlous state of affairs. Halpin’s
building was on the verge of collapse. Many of the plates in the upper
stories had worked loose under the poundings inflicted by the seas, and
in many instances the bolts holding the fabric together were sheared.
Repairs had to be made hastily to enable the old tower to hold out
until the new lighthouse was erected.
Before the work was commenced, the designer, as a result of further
investigation, decided to increase the diameter of his tower to 52 feet
at the base. The lowest courses did not comprise complete rings of
masonry, but were anchored at the points where the circle was broken
into the face of the cliff, so as to form an integral part thereof,
as it were. The depth of this partial ringwork is 26 feet, at which
level the first complete ring of masonry was laid. Thenceforward the
tower is solid throughout its thickness for a further height of 30
feet, except for a central circular space forming the water-tank, which
holds 3,250 gallons of water. From this point the masonry structure
rises gracefully to a height of 88-1/8 feet to the lantern gallery. The
lighthouse is divided into eight floors, affording living-rooms for the
keepers, storerooms for oil, fog-signals, provisions, coal, etc.
The lighthouse, the landing-stage, and other appurtenances, are
executed in Cornish granite throughout. The blocks were fashioned from
picked stone of fine, close, hard grain, and ranged up to 4 and 5 tons
in weight. The method of construction followed the approved lines of
to-day, in which each stone is dovetailed into its neighbour, above,
below, and on either side. As the stones were cut and fitted in the
Cornish quarries, they were set up and fitted course by course. Then,
when they had met the approbation of the engineer deputed for this
duty, they were numbered and given other identification marks, so that
upon reaching the base at Rock Island, upon the Irish mainland, within
easy reach of the Fastnet, they could be despatched in rotation to the
site, to be set in position.
It was in August, 1896, that the first little squad of labourers
landed on the Fastnet, under the superintendence of James Kavanagh,
a first-class all-round mason--one of those men who occupy a unique
position when emergency calls. He was just the type of foreman that the
task demanded, careful, daring, a hard worker, zealous, dauntless. Once
he had landed on the rock to prepare the foundations, he seldom left
it; and, what is more, every stone constituting the tower was well and
truly laid by his own hand. It was indeed unfortunate that Kavanagh,
after his momentous round of toil was over, should be stricken down
with apoplexy, to which he succumbed, after virtually years of
imprisonment upon an ill-famed rock, facing discomforts and privations
of all descriptions, and seizing every opportunity to drive the task
forward. It was as if Nature, baffled in her efforts to circumvent
the work of human ingenuity, had taken revenge upon the man who had
laboured mightily to complete her subjection.
Kavanagh took with him upon the rock a small boiler and steam-winch,
which he set up without delay, to land both workmen and necessaries.
He lost no time in cutting away at the toe of the cliff, to admit the
first partial ring of stones. It was a ding-dong battle between the
masons and the sea for the first few rounds. The men toiled heroically
with their chisels between the coming of the rollers, with one eye
on the water and the other on a handy life-line, which they grabbed
when the Atlantic endeavoured to steal a march upon them. On some
days splendid progress was made; on others the masons never drove the
chisels once into the rock-face.
Landing was an exciting experience in itself. The tender, naturally,
could not draw right in, owing to the swell and other dangers. She
stood off a little way, and there anchored. When men were coming to or
going from the rock, the rope was run out from the derrick. To this
was attached a kind of double stirrup, not unlike a child’s swing. The
men took up their position, two at a time, on these stirrups, standing
face to face. At the command, “Lower away!” or “Heave ho!” the derrick
winch commenced to grunt and rattle, and the men were whisked into
mid-air, clutching tightly to their frail, cramped hold, and steadied
in their aerial journey by another rope extending to the rowing-boat
below. It was an exciting trip while it lasted, and at first glimpse
appeared to be dangerous, so much so that on one or two occasions the
courage of raw hands broke down at the last moment, and they hesitated
to trust themselves to such a flimsy-looking vehicle.
Bringing the stones ashore was even more difficult. It was imperative
that the edges and corners of the blocks should be protected from
blows which might chip and scar them, thereby impairing their true
fit, and possibly allowing the sea to get a purchase in its efforts
to destroy. Accordingly, the blocks were packed in skeleton crates,
with substantial wooden battens completely protecting the vital parts.
It was impossible to swing them singly direct through the air from
steamer to rock, and it was inadvisable to transfer them first to a
rowing-boat; so an ingenious alternative method was perfected. The
tender was brought as near the rock as possible, and the derrick boom
was swung out, so that a hook carried at the end of the rope could be
attached to the stone, which rested on rollers upon the tender’s deck
leading to an open doorway in the taffrail. When the rope was secured,
the word was given to haul in the derrick rope slowly and gently. This
brought the stone gradually to the vessel’s side, when it was permitted
to fall into the water where it could suffer no injury. The derrick
rope meanwhile was wound in, and the stone, still submerged, at last
brought to rest against the side of the tower.
A vertical series of wooden battens had been attached to the outside of
the building, so as to form a slide up which the blocks could be hauled
to the required level. Of course, as the tower increased in height, the
latter part of the operation had to be varied, owing to the concave
curve of the structure. Then the stone had to complete its final stage
through the air, being steadied in its ascent by a rope held below to
prevent it swinging and coming to grief against the completed part of
the shaft. In this manner 2,074 stones, representing a dead-weight of
4,633 tons, were landed and set in position.
Work was painfully slow and tedious at times, owing to adverse weather.
Although the men on the rock were condemned inevitably to periods of
idleness, they were made as comfortable as conditions would permit, so
as to remove any longing on their part to return to the mainland for a
change. This was a necessary precaution. Although the men might leave
the rock in perfectly calm weather, the Atlantic is so fickle that
an interval of two or three hours was quite sufficient to permit the
wind to freshen, and the swell to grow restive, to such a degree as to
render a return to the rock impossible for several days. Owing to the
cramped nature of the quarters on the rock, elaborate care had to be
exercised to protect the men from the ravages of disease. The toilers
had to board themselves, and the authorities demanded that each man
should maintain a fortnight’s reserve supply of provisions upon the
rock to tide him over a spell of bad weather. This rule was enforced
very rigidly, any infringement of it being attended with instant
dismissal. For emergency purposes the Commissioners maintained a small
stock of salt beef, pork, tinned meats, tea, sugar, milk, biscuits,
and so forth, on the rock, from which the men could replenish their
larders. The foreman acted as a kind of medical officer of health, as
well as fulfilling his other duties. He was supplied with a ship’s
medicine-chest, plenty of bandages, liniment, and antiseptics, in case
of accident. At five o’clock every morning the men were compelled to
tumble out of their bunks, to indulge in a thorough wash, to turn their
bedding into the air when the weather was agreeable, and to wash out
their quarters. The strictest supervision was maintained over matters
pertaining to sanitation, and, thanks to these elaborate precautions,
cases of sickness were very few.
Extreme care was observed in the building operations, so that no
workman might be exposed to any unnecessary risks, although the task
at times bristled with unavoidable perils. As a matter of fact, the
whole enterprise was attended by only three accidents on the rock. One
man was cutting a tram-rail, when a piece of steel flew into one eye,
completely blinding it. Another suffered a similar calamity from a chip
of stone while quarrying. The third man met misfortune while at work
at the windlass of the derrick. As a breaker rolled in, his companion
dropped his handle, with the result that the other workman was knocked
down and had one leg broken. There was a true Hibernian flavour about
this last-named accident, in keeping with the setting in which it
occurred. The man was incapacitated for some months, and then brought
an action for compensation, claiming that he had been rendered unfit
for any further manual labour. The sympathetic court solaced him with
an award of £350, or $1,750. The amazement and disgust of the engineer
may be imagined when, three months after the action, he suddenly
espied the supposedly totally incapacitated workman assisting in the
transference of coal from a barge to the tender!
[Illustration:
_By courtesy of the “Scientific American.”_
THE FASTNET, THE OUTPOST OF EUROPE.
On the top of the rock is the first light, opened in 1854. At the side
is the present noble tower, completed in 1906. The flashing beam of
750,000 candle-power has a range of 20 miles.]
As the tower grew above the existing building, which it was to exceed
in height, it obscured the light thrown from the latter in a certain
direction. At this juncture, accordingly, a temporary scaffolding was
erected upon the summit of the new shaft, on which were rigged two
ordinary lightship lights, and these were kept going until the new
lantern was completed. The last stone was set on June 3, 1903, after
some four years’ labour.
During the winter everything was brought virtually to a standstill,
owing to the succession of gales, but the men on the rock never
missed an opportunity to advance the undertaking. Kavanagh, the
foreman, absolutely refused to go ashore so long as any work could be
completed. Often he remained on the Fastnet the whole year round, and
never was away for more than two months in the year, when work was
impossible. Other workmen, when they had lived down the first feelings
of loneliness, became imbued with the same spirit, and appeared loth
to forsake the scene of their labours even for a day or two. When
the men settled down to their toil, it was very seldom that a wish was
expressed to be taken ashore more than once in three months.
The lantern was undertaken directly the stonework was completed. The
landing of this apparatus was an exciting task, for, the season being
advanced, it was decided to run unusual risks, lest the rock should
become unapproachable. It was accomplished successfully, and the
various parts were stored on the rock in what was considered a safe
place. The weather looked fine and gave no signs of breaking; yet two
hours after all had been inspected and secured for the night a terrific
gale sprang up, and the rock was enveloped in water, which dashed right
over it. The waves caught some of the lantern apparatus and smashed
it; other parts were carried away and never seen again. This was an
unexpected catastrophe. The remaining damaged parts of the apparatus
were sent back to Birmingham to be overhauled and the missing portions
replaced.
As there was no possibility of being able to complete the lantern that
winter, and the authorities did not like to entrust the marking of
the rock solely to the temporary lightship lights--the lantern of the
Halpin tower had been taken down meanwhile--it was thereupon decided to
erect the dismantled old lamp in the new tower for the time being.
[Illustration:
_By courtesy of Messrs. Chance Bros. & Co., Ltd._
THE LANTERN OF THE FASTNET ROCK LIGHTHOUSE.
It consists of two tiers each of four panels of 920 millimetres focal
distance.]
The next summer the new apparatus was got on to the rock and erected
safely. The light is of the dioptric type, derived from a series of
incandescent burners, giving a total power of 1,200 candles. This part
of the installation is the invention of the chief engineer to the
Commissioners, Mr. C. W. Scott, and it has proved to be one of the most
perfect and economical devices of this type yet submitted to practical
operations. The oil is vaporized by being passed through a spraying
device under pressure, similar to the forced carburation in automobile
practice, and the gas is fed to the Bunsen burners. The lenses,
together with their revolving apparatus, weigh 13,440 pounds, and
rotate upon a bed of mercury under the fall of a weight of 290 pounds,
which descends 40 feet per hour, this being sufficient to secure
three complete revolutions per minute. In case the incandescent gas
installation should break down from any cause, a four-wick oil-burner
is held in reserve, and can be brought into action instantly. The
power of the rays thrown from the 1,200 candle-power burners is
intensified by the lenses to some 750,000 candle-power, of extremely
white brilliancy, recalling the beam thrown by an electric searchlight.
The flash, of three-twenty-fifths of a second’s duration, recurs every
five seconds, and on a clear night the light is readily distinguishable
from a distance of twenty miles, while its reflection in the sky may be
observed from a considerably greater distance.
The erection of this lighthouse was not without one humorous incident.
While the lantern apparatus was being set in position, a plumber was
sent to the rock. He spent one day and night there, a period that
proved to be more than enough for him. The murmuring of the waves lost
all their musical glamour for him when he was imprisoned on a wild,
isolated, wind-and-wave-swept eyrie. He did not get a wink of sleep,
and was scared nearly out of his wits. When morning broke, and the
men were turned out of their bunks, the plumber expressed his fixed
determination to return to the shore at once. His companions laughed at
his fears, ridiculed his anxieties, coaxed and upbraided him in turn.
It was of no avail. He would not do another stroke of work. Realizing
the hopelessness of such a workman, the engineer in charge signalled
the mainland for assistance. The steamer could not put out, but the
lifeboat, not understanding the import of such an unusual call, made
the dangerous pull to the rock, to ascertain what was the matter. When
they found that it was to take off a scared workman, their feelings
may be imagined. The demoralized plumber was bundled into the lifeboat
and rowed back to shore. The blood did not return to his face, nor did
he collect his scattered wits, until he planted his two feet firmly on
the mainland, when he very vehemently and picturesquely expressed his
determination never to accept a job in such a forsaken place again.
The old tower was reduced to the level of its solid base, and converted
into an oil-store. The finishing touches were applied to the new
tower, and on June 27, 1906, the scintillating and penetrating ray of
the present Fastnet was shown for the first time. It is a magnificent
light, and, being the latest expression of British lighthouse
engineering upon a large scale, compels more than passing interest.
The light is fully in keeping with the importance of the spot it
marks, and the £84,000, or $420,000, which it cost has been laid out
to excellent purpose. The light and fog-signal station is tended by
six keepers, four being on the rock simultaneously, and two ashore.
The latter constitute the relief, which is made twice a month if the
weather permits, the service being one month on the rock, followed by
a fortnight on shore. One keeper has day duty, maintaining a lookout
for fog and to signal passing ships; two are on duty at night, the one
having charge of the light and its operation, while his comrade devotes
his attention to signalling ships and watching the weather. When a mist
creeps over the light, the fourth keeper is called up to manipulate
the explosive fog-signal. The lighthouse, being an important landfall,
is a signalling-station for Lloyd’s, and is also fitted with wireless
telegraphy, wherewith the movements of outgoing and incoming vessels
are reported to the mainland for notification to all parts of the
world.