THE SMALLS LIGHTHOUSE.
The motive which inspired the founder of the Smalls Lighthouse was of
a higher order than those of most of his contemporaries. In erecting
a warning light upon these dangerous rocks, Mr. Philips (for this was
his name) proposed to himself, as his great and enduring recompense,
“to serve and save humanity.” But, in this instance, generosity met
with its due reward even upon earth; and when the descendants of the
philanthropist disposed of their establishment to the Trinity House,
they received, by way of compensation, a sum of £15,000.
The undertaking which Philips set himself was one of no ordinary
difficulty, of no common danger. The rock on which he resolved to erect
his lighthouse, in ordinary weather rose fully twelve feet above the
water; but when the waves were heavy—a very common occurrence in those
parts—it was completely submerged. And in Philips’s time engineers
were not so numerous as they are to-day; the professors and practical
expositors of science were then but few, were misunderstood, frequently
persecuted or slandered, notwithstanding the precious contributions
they were making yearly to the great sum of human knowledge and
human happiness. Philips, therefore, searched far and wide before he
discovered a man able to carry out his idea. At length he found him,
but neither among architects nor engineers; the assistant he chose was
named Whiteside, a musical instrument maker at Liverpool, and gifted
with a remarkable aptitude for mechanical pursuits.
* * * * *
It was in the summer of 1772 that Whiteside first explored the maze
of rocks, with which it is no flight of fancy to say his name will be
ever associated. He landed on the Smalls with a gallant little band
of Cornish miners; but the obstacles which he encountered at the very
beginning might well have disgusted him with the enterprise. Scarcely
was the foundation begun, before the weather suddenly grew tempestuous,
and so furious was the gale, that the cutter which had disembarked them
was compelled to weigh anchor and put to sea. The unfortunate workmen
left upon the rock clung to it as best they might—clung to it as a
drowning seaman to the fragment of broken spar which alone interposes
between him and death; and in this wretched position they remained for
two days and nights. Yet even this rough prelude could not discourage
Whiteside, and he persevered through a long series of difficulties and
dangers until his task was finished.
[Illustration: THE SMALLS LIGHTHOUSE.]
One day the dwellers on the neighbouring coast picked up on the beach
what is so expressively called “a message from the sea”—namely, a strip
of paper enclosed in a bottle very carefully sealed—the bottle
itself being deposited in a cask or barrel. On the barrel were written
these words:—
“Open this, and you will find a letter.”
The finders obeyed the injunction, and found the following:—
“The Smalls, _February 1st, 1777_.
“Sir,—Being now in a most dangerous and distressed condition
upon the Smalls, do hereby trust Providence will bring to your
hand this, which prayeth for your immediate assistance to fetch
us off the Smalls before the next spring, or we fear we shall
perish; our water near all gone, our fire quite gone, and our
house in a most melancholy manner. I doubt not but you will
fetch us from here as fast as possible; we can be got off at
some part of the tide almost any weather. I need say no more,
but remain your distressed,
“Humble servant,
“H. Whiteside.”
Beneath this signature a postscript had been added:—
“We were distressed in a gale of wind upon the 13th of January,
since which have not been able to keep any light; but we could
not have kept any light above sixteen nights longer for want
of oil and candles, which makes us murmur and think we are
forgotten.
“Edward Edwards, G. Adams, J. Price.
“_P.S._—We doubt not that whoever takes up this will be so
merciful as to cause it to be sent to Thomas Williams, Esq.,
Trelethin, near St. David’s, Wales.”
There are sadder pages than this, however, in the brief chronicle
of the Smalls, and one bears a close resemblance to a painful
incident associated with the Eddystone. It is said that early in the
present century, and in a stormy winter of peculiar severity, the
light-keepers were deprived of all communication with the land for
a period of four months. It was in vain that ships were dispatched
towards the rocks; a raging sea invariably prevented their approach.
One of them returned, on a certain occasion, with the singular
intelligence that her crew had observed a man standing upright and
motionless, in a corner of the outer gallery, with a flag of distress
floating beside him. But whether he was alive or dead, none could say,
or even imagine. Every night the gaze of the inhabitants of the shore
was anxiously directed towards the lighthouse, to see if the lamp was
kindled; and every night the welcome ray shone punctually—a proof that
there was still a keeper at the Smalls. But were the two guardians
living; and if only one, which of the two survived? The curiosity of
all, and the deep anxiety of some, daily increased, as day after day
passed without further intelligence from the sea-girt rock.
One evening a fisherman of Milford contrived to land on the lighthouse
rock in an interval of calm, and to carry back to Solva the two
keepers; but of the two one was a corpse. The survivor had made
a kind of shroud for his dead comrade, and afterwards placed him
upright in the gallery, and securely bound him. This he did to avoid
the odour which would have arisen from a dead body preserved within
the lighthouse, and yet to let it remain for the examination of the
surgeons, lest any suspicion of foul play should attach to him.
[Illustration]