THE COAST LIGHTS OF THE UNITED STATES
Few nations have such a varied coastline to guard as the United States.
On the Atlantic seaboard the northern shore is a shaggy bold rampart of
lofty cliff, hard and pitiless. Farther south the rock gradually gives
way to sandy dunes, which the hungry sea is continually gnawing away
here and piling up somewhere else. Then, as the tropics are entered,
the sand in turn gives way to coral reefs, every whit as formidable as
rock and as treacherous as sand, where the hurricane reigns supreme
and makes its presence felt only too frequently. Across the continent
a similar variation, though not perhaps so intense, is observable on
the Pacific side. The coast range runs parallel with the shore, and
consequently cliff and precipice are common, owing to the lateral spurs
of the range coming to an abrupt termination where land and water meet.
The result is that no one type of beacon is possible of adoption as
a standard for the whole coastline. The class of structure has to be
modified to meet local conditions, but the battle between destruction
and preservation is none the less bitter and continuous. When ships
began to trade with the Atlantic seaboard of the United States, the
erection of warning lights became imperative. This duty was fulfilled
in the early days by local enterprise, and the first lighthouse on
the continent was built on Little Brewster Island, at the entrance to
Boston Harbour. It was completed about 1716, was a conical masonry
tower, and its cost, which is interesting as being set out to the
uttermost farthing--£2,285 17s. 8½d.--betrays the scrupulous commercial
integrity of the first financiers of the United States. The light was
maintained by the levy of a due of one penny per ton on all incoming
and outgoing vessels, except those engaged in coastal traffic, and was
collected by the same authority which subsequently got into trouble in
the endeavour to collect the tax on tea. This pioneer light is still
in service, although in 1783 it was rebuilt. The light, of the second
order, is 102 feet above mean high-water, and gives a white flash every
thirty seconds, which is visible from a distance of sixteen miles; the
fog-signal is a first-class siren, giving a blast of five seconds,
followed by silence for ten seconds, with a succeeding blast of five
seconds and silence for forty seconds.
The excellent example thus set by the good people of Boston was
followed by other States and individual authorities along the
coast. This system of local and arbitrary control was by no means
satisfactory, so in 1789 the Federal Government took over the control
of the lighthouse service, and entrusted its safe-keeping to the
Secretary of the Treasury. There were only eight lights to watch when
the cession was effected, but the growth of the country soon increased
the duties of the department. Accordingly, a decree was passed in 1817
whereby the control was transferred from the Secretary of the Treasury
to the fifth auditor of the same department, Mr. Stephen Pleasanton,
who became known as the General Superintendent of Lights. He assumed
the new office in 1820, taking over fifty-five lights, so that during
the thirty years the aids to navigation had been under the jurisdiction
of the Secretary of the Treasury forty-seven new stations had been
established.
The new official held the post for thirty-two years, and prosecuted
his work so diligently and systematically that by 1852 the service
had grown to 325 lighthouses, lightships, buoys, and other guides.
The lighthouses were maintained under contract, the contractor for
each light undertaking for a fixed annual sum to keep his charge in a
perfect state of repair, to supply all illuminant, wicks, chimneys,
and stores, that were required, as well as making one visit to the
lighthouse in the course of the year. Subsequently it became necessary
to award the contracts for terms of five years.
[Illustration: THE CARQUINEZ STRAIT LIGHT.
An imposing station on the north side of the entrance to the Strait.]
As time progressed, and the duties of the Superintendent became more
onerous, certain individuals took exception to the idea of such an
important service being entrusted to the charge of one man, vested with
wide discretionary powers. Accordingly, complaints were formulated
liberally, and the superintendent became the butt of venomous attack.
The outcome of this agitation was the formation of a committee, two
members of which were sent upon a mission of inspection to Great
Britain and France, the lighthouse services of which were stated to
be far superior to that of the United States, and more efficiently
controlled. The result of this investigation was the inauguration of
an official department known as the Lighthouse Board, constituted of
capable engineers. In 1852 this authority took over the administration
of the light service, which has remained under its control ever since.
In order to secure the utmost efficiency, the coasts were divided into
districts, each of which is presided over by an accomplished officer of
the United States Corps of Engineers, who is held directly responsible
to the Board at Washington for the lights in his area. So admirably
was the new authority constituted that it has never failed to give the
utmost satisfaction, and the result is that to-day the Lighthouse Board
of the United States is comparable with contemporary authorities in the
Old World.
In the early days the majority of the lights were placed on the
mainland, and as a rule comprised wooden towers, projecting from
the roof of the keepers’ dwelling, similar in character to some of
the older lights to be found on the coasts of Newfoundland and New
Brunswick in Canada. These buildings were cheap to construct, as they
were carried out upon the timber-frame principle; but they possessed
many disadvantages. The greatest objection arose from the attachment
of the tower to the roof frames of the house. Being exposed to the
full fury of the tempest, the tower in time would become loosened,
and the roof itself distorted, so that the inmates had to suffer the
inconvenience of water penetrating into their rooms. Even the
few masonry towers which were erected were of the most primitive
description, and soon fell victims to the ravages of the weather.
Accordingly, when the lighthouse administration was placed upon an
efficient footing, the first task was the complete overhaul, and
reconstruction where necessary, of many of the existing lights. Of
the eight beacons which were taken over by the Federal Government in
1789, six have been rebuilt. The only two exceptions are the Sandy
Hook light--a stone tower 88 feet high--and Cape Henlopen, at the
entrance to Delaware Bay, both of which were built in 1764. Naturally,
their illuminating apparatus has been remodelled from time to time, in
accordance with the advances in this field of lighthouse engineering,
but that is the only change which has been effected.
[Illustration: A CHURCH AS A LIGHTHOUSE.
A fixed white light, thrown from the tower of St. Philip’s Church, and
visible for 18 miles, forms the rear light of the main channel range in
Charleston Harbour, South Carolina.]
One lighthouse on the Atlantic coast of the United States possesses a
pathetic and romantic interest. It indicates the treacherous shores
around Cape Henry, and mounts sentinel on the headland at the southerly
side of the entrance to Chesapeake Bay, Virginia. The stranger on the
passing ship, as he scans the dreary bench of sand rising from the
water’s edge at this point, has his attention arrested by two gaunt
towers. The foremost is almost lapped by the water; the other is some
distance to the rear, and upon a higher level. “Two lights, and for
what?” is a natural exclamation. But only one tower--that nearer the
waves--throws its glare by night. Its companion behind has passed its
cycle of utility long since, but it has not been demolished because of
its unique history. It was built in 1789 with bricks and stones brought
from England. In shape it is a tapering octagonal cone, and when first
erected the waves almost washed its base. But the sea, which eats
away the rock and soft soil at some parts, casts this débris ashore
here, so that Cape Henry is slowly but surely thrusting its dismal
tongue of sand farther and farther into the Atlantic. The old tower
fulfilled faithful service until the seventies, when, being considered
too far from the water, it was superseded by the shaft rising from
the sand-dunes below. After a century’s service the old light was
extinguished, to permit the fixed white light of the first order in the
new tower to take its place.
The new building, completed in 1881, is likewise octagonal in section,
gradually tapering from the base to the lantern gallery. It is built
upon what is described as the “double-shell principle,” there being two
iron cylinders, one within the other. It is 152 feet in height, and the
powerful white beam has a range of twenty miles, while a red beam is
cast from one side to mark a dangerous shoal. As a powerful flashing
white light of a similar character is shed from a tower on Cape Charles
opposite, the mariner has a well-illumined entrance into Chesapeake Bay.
Ice was one of the great difficulties against which the American
lighthouse builders had to contend, and they laboured valiantly to
mitigate this evil. It caused more damage to their works than wind and
wave of the most terrifying violence. The upper reaches of the great
rivers are encased with thick ice throughout the winter. When the
spring comes round, this brittle armour is broken up, and, caught by
the current, is swept toward the ocean, the floes jostling and crashing
among one another. When the slightest obstruction is offered to their
free movement, the pieces mount one another, forming large hummocks,
and the pressure thus imposed is terrific. The “ice-shove,” when it
assumes large proportions, is quite capable of wreaking widespread
damage.
When the screw-pile lighthouses came into vogue, this danger was
advanced as one of the greatest objections to the adoption of this
idea. It was pointed out that the ice would pack around the slender
legs, and either snap them, or would bring about such severe distortion
as to imperil the safety of the superstructure. When Major Hartman
Bache undertook the erection of the Brandywine Shoal light in Delaware
Bay, he determined to frustrate the effects of this peril. The light,
being eight miles from the ocean, was right in the path of the
ice-shoves of the Potomac, so the nine iron legs upon which the beacon
is supported--eight in a circle and one central--are protected by what
is known as an “ice-breaker.” This is a pier of thirty iron piles,
which likewise are screwed into the sea-bed. Each pile is 23 feet
long by 5 inches in diameter, and they are connected at their heads,
and at a point just above low-water, by what are known as “spider-web
braces.” The result is that, when a shock is inflicted upon one pile,
it is communicated throughout the entire breaker. This system has
proved entirely successful, and has protected the lighthouse within
completely. The main building, although subjected to heavy attacks by
the piled ice, has never been damaged thereby, although subsequently it
became necessary to strengthen the ice-breaker, because the onslaughts
of several winters had left their mark.
Off the coast of Florida, and in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, this
type of lighthouse is very strongly in evidence, as it was found to be
the most suitable for the coral sea-bed. The most notable structure
of this class is the Fowey Rocks light, which rises, a flame-crowned
skeleton, from the extreme northern point of the Florida reefs. It is
in an exposed position, where inclement weather is often experienced.
At this point there is not more than 3 feet of water, and the spot is
as bad as a mariner could wish to avoid, for no ship could hope to
escape destruction once it became entangled in these submerged toils.
The building of this light presented many perplexing difficulties,
the greatest of which was offered by the weather. The structure is
an octagonal pyramid, with the keepers’ quarters on a lower deck,
communication with the lantern being afforded by a winding staircase
encircling a vertical cylinder. The light is 110¼ feet above
high-water, of the fixed type, with red sectors guarding dangerous
shoals in the vicinity, while the white beams can be picked up some
eleven miles away.
The integral parts of this building were prepared by three different
contractors, were fitted together, and the building set up temporarily,
on the mainland, so as to facilitate erection at the site. The work
was started in 1876, the first move being the provision of a platform
about 80 feet square and 12 feet above low-water, from which to conduct
operations. The lower piles were driven about 10 feet into the live
coral reef. Extreme care was observed during this operation, the pile
after every stroke of the driver being tested with a plumb-line, to
make sure that it was being sent home absolutely vertically. If it
diverged, however slightly, from the perpendicular, the error was
corrected immediately. When the piles had been driven to the requisite
depth, the tops were levelled to the height of the most deeply driven
pile; then the horizontal members were placed in position, followed by
the diagonal bracing.
[Illustration: THE BONITA POINT LIGHTHOUSE OFF THE CALIFORNIAN COAST.
While the tower is only 21 feet in height, its position on a lofty
cliff gives the light of 27,000 candle-power a range of 17 miles.]
This task occupied some two months, and then a spell of bad weather
broke over the coast, interspersed with brief intervals of smooth
seas and calms. As the land depot was four miles away, this involved
frequent journeys to and fro for the workmen, who had to be brought
off the work upon the slightest sign of rough weather. To eliminate
the interruptions arising from this procedure, tents were despatched
to the site and pitched on the wooden platform, so that the men might
reside there. At times their situation was alarming; the heavy seas
rushed and tumbled among the piles beneath the crazy perch, and the men
were always on tenterhooks lest a hurricane, such as is experienced
often in this region, should bear down upon them and carry the whole
colony away. When work was in progress, they did not realize their
lonely, perilous position so much, since their minds were otherwise
occupied; but it was the enforced periods of idleness, often lasting
several days on end, which made them grow despondent, as they were
virtually imprisoned, and there was very little space in which to
obtain exercise. The material was brought out in lighters towed by a
steam-launch, on which steam was kept up day and night, because the
material had to be sent out at any moment when the conditions were
favourable. Again, this “standing by” was imperative, in case a sudden
call for assistance should be given by the little isolated community
when faced with disaster during a storm. When the men got the
keepers’ quarters completed, their minds became easier, as they were
now in possession of a more stable camp. The superstructure advanced at
a rapid rate, and the light was shown for the first time on June 15,
1878.
Toil of a different character was associated with the building of
the Race Rock lighthouse, eight miles from New London, Connecticut.
This peril is a submerged ledge off Fisher’s Island Sound, and is of
formidable magnitude, since the ledge is at the mouth of the race,
where the waters, according to the tide, sweep along with great
velocity and force, while in heavy weather the waves get up high and
thunder with awful power. The main ledge bristles with ugly sharp
spurs, some of which rise above the main cluster, known as Race Rock,
which is about 3 feet below mean low-water. The situation of this
lurking danger called for the erection of an efficient beacon, though
not demanding a light of the calibre of Minot’s Ledge, because even in
rough weather the water does not mount in the form of thick curtains of
spray. A smaller and different type of light, therefore, was considered
to be adequate for the purpose.
[Illustration: POINT PINOS LIGHT STATION, CALIFORNIA.
This mariners’ friend has been tended by a woman for the past 30 years.]
Even then, however, erection was not an easy matter by any means.
The velocity of the water and the submerged character of the reef
demanded the aid of divers to prepare the ledge-face and to complete
the foundations. The rock was levelled as much as possible by the aid
of small broken stone and riprap. On this a heavy circular stepped
plinth of solid mass-concrete was laid. This foundation is 9 feet in
thickness, and is disposed in four concentric layers, the lowermost of
which is 60 feet in diameter by 3 feet in thickness. The concrete was
laid in huge hoops of iron, of the desired height and diameter for the
respective layers, to prevent the mass from spreading. When this task
was completed, there was a level platform, as solid as the rock itself,
and projecting 8 inches above mean low-water. On this a conical stone
pier was built to a height of 30 feet, by 57 feet in diameter at the
base. The top was crowned with a projecting coping 55 feet in diameter.
The outer face of this pier is composed of massive blocks of stone
backed with concrete; while in its heart are the spaces for cisterns
and cellars. From one side of this pier stretches a short jetty, to
form a landing-place.
[Illustration: THE FARALLON ROCK AND LIGHT.
The light of 110,000 candle-power is placed on the highest peak of the
rock, 358 feet above the sea.]
[Illustration: THE FARALLON LIGHTHOUSE OFF SAN FRANCISCO.
Owing to the height of the rock, a tower 29 feet high was adequate to
carry the lantern and its equipment.]
The lighthouse comprises a granite dwelling of two floors for the
accommodation of the keepers, from the centre of the front of which
rises a granite tower, square at the base, but round at the top, to
carry the lantern, the light of which, of the fourth order, is 67
feet above mean high-water. The warning is an alternate flash of red
and white, with a ten seconds’ dark interval. For the protection of
the base of the pier, the ledge on all sides is covered with a thick
layer of boulders. The work was commenced in 1872, but, owing to its
difficult character, occupied six years. The Race Rock lost its terrors
for all time when the beam flashed out on the night of New Year’s Day,
1879.
On the Pacific seaboard, while the American lighthouse engineers have
not been so active in regard to engineering work of an impressive
nature, owing to the more slender proportions of the maritime traffic,
they have accomplished some notable triumphs. The Tillamook Rock light,
described in the previous chapter, is the most important, and is to
the Pacific seaboard of the country what the Minot’s Ledge light is
to the Atlantic coast. The majority of the lights on the Pacific are
stationed on the mainland, or contiguous thereto. These beacons are
of more modern construction than those on the Atlantic shore, and in
some instances are very powerful. Pride of place in this respect is
shared between Point Arena and Cape Mendocino. The former, perched on
the cliff-shore of California, has a flashing group of two flashes of
3/8 second in five seconds, with eclipses of 1-1/8 and 4-1/8 seconds
respectively, thrown by its light of 1,000,000 candle-power over the
water for a radius of eighteen miles from a height of 155 feet. Cape
Mendocino light, on the same coastline, has the further distinction
of being the most elevated light on the United States Pacific coast,
the 340,000 candle-power beam being thrown for ten seconds once every
thirty seconds from an elevation of 422 feet. Although the tower
itself is only 20 feet in height, the cliff sheers up for 402 feet.
Consequently the flash may be detected from twenty-eight miles out to
sea in clear weather.
On the other hand, the Point Cabrillo light, a few miles south, whose
flashing ray is of 650,000 candle-power, is picked up from a distance
of only fourteen miles, because the light is but 84 feet above mean
high-water. The Farallon beacon, comprising a tower 29 feet high
planted on the highest point of Farallon Island, off San Francisco,
comes a good second in point of elevation, as the 110,000 candle-power
flash, occurring for ten seconds once in every minute, is projected
from an altitude of 358 feet, and can be discerned twenty-six miles
away. For many years the Point Reyes light held the distinction of
being the loftiest beacon, since its flash of 160,000 candle-power
once every five seconds is shed from an elevation of 294 feet, but is
now relegated to third place in this respect. Taken on the whole, the
lights scattered along the rugged, lonely Pacific seaboard are far
more powerful than their contemporaries guarding busier shipping on
the eastern coast of the country; but whereas the latter are placed
somewhat close together, the former are spaced far apart.
[Illustration: THE PUNTA GORDA LIGHT STATION, CALIFORNIA.
One of the latest built by the United States. Commodious and handsome
buildings are provided for the wardens of this light.]
There are some points which, while being so extremely perilous to
the mariner as to demand the provision of a lighthouse, yet cannot
be guarded at present. The peculiarity of their situations and their
physical characteristics completely defy the ingenuity, skill, and
resource, of the engineer. Cape Hatteras, perhaps, is the most forcible
illustration of this defeat of science by Nature. The sea-bed for miles
off this point is littered with the most treacherous sandbanks, beside
which the Goodwins of Britain appear insignificant. Every seafarer
knows the Diamond Shoals, and gives them a wider berth than any other
danger spot in the seven seas. For some seven and a half miles out
to sea from the prominent headland, the Atlantic, according to its
mood, bubbles, boils, or rolls calmly, over shoals and serried rows
of submerged banks. The currents are wild and frantic; the storms
which rage off this point are difficult to equal in any other part of
the world; and the number of ships which have gone to pieces or have
been abandoned to their fate in these inhospitable stretches of sea is
incalculable.
Time after time the engineers have sought to subjugate this danger,
but without avail. The sea-bed is so soft and absorbing that a firm
foundation for a tower defies discovery. One brilliant attempt was made
to sink a caisson, similar to that employed for the famous Rothersand
light in the River Weser. The mammoth structure was built, and with
extreme difficulty was towed out to the selected site. But the seas
roared against this attempt to deprive them of their prey. They
bore down upon the caisson and smashed it to fragments, causing the
engineers to retire from the scene thoroughly discomfited. When a huge
mass, weighing several hundred tons, could be broken up by the maddened
seas so easily, of what avail were the knowledge and effort of man? The
Diamond Shoals still resist conquest. The only means of warning ships
of their presence is a lightship moored well out beyond the pale of
their sucking embrace.
At the present time the United States Lighthouse Board mounts guard
over 17,695 miles of coastline. This aggregate embraces, not only
the two seaboards of the North American continent, but sections of
the Great Lakes, the Philippines, Alaska, Hawaiian Islands, and the
American Samoan Islands, the total detailed coast or channel line being
no less than 48,881 miles. In order to guide the mariner on his way
through waters over which the Stars and Stripes wave, no less than
12,150 lights of all descriptions are required, demanding the services
of an army of 5,582 men and women; while the cost of maintenance
exceeds £1,200,000, or $6,000,000, per annum. Seeing that the country
levies no tolls for services rendered in this connection, the shipping
community, and humanity in general, owe a deep debt of gratitude to a
powerful nation.
The United States share with Great Britain, Austria, Belgium, Spain,
France, Italy, the Netherlands, and Sweden, the expense of maintaining
a lighthouse which is situate on the property of none of them. This is
a kind of no man’s, and yet it is every man’s, light. The beacon is not
located in an out-of-the-way part of the world, such as the Arctic Sea,
as might be supposed, but mounts guard over one of the busiest marine
thoroughfares of the globe--the western entrance to the Mediterranean.
This unique light is that of Cape Spartel, on the Moroccan coast. While
it was built at the expense of Morocco, the responsibility for its
maintenance was assumed by the foregoing Powers, in accordance with
the convention of March 12, 1867, which has remained in force since.
There is no other light upon the seven seas which has so many Powers
concerned in its welfare and maintenance.