CHAPTER VI.

LIGHTHOUSES ON THE ENGLISH COAST.

We propose, in the present chapter, to glance at a few of the best

known pharoses which illuminate our home-waters, but without observing

any particular order. Our description of each will be brief, for it

is needless to say that, as a rule, lighthouses closely resemble

one another in their principles of construction as in their general

arrangements, and that the differences between them are simply matters

of detail.

* * * * *

Upon _Needles Point_, the westernmost extremity of the Isle of Wight,

at an elevation of 474 feet, a lighthouse was erected early in the last

century. Notwithstanding its great height, it is recorded that its

windows were sometimes shattered by stones flung up by the mounting and

raging billows.[46] It had ten Argand lamps, and the same number of

plated reflectors; and its light, on clear and cloudless nights, was

visible at a distance of eleven leagues. Seven hundred gallons of oil,

we are told, were consumed annually; and in stormy nights the blaze

attracted hundreds of small birds, which dashed themselves against the

glass reflectors, and were killed.

[46] We think, however, that this statement is in great need of

verification.

[Illustration: NEEDLES LIGHTHOUSE.]

Owing to its great elevation, however, this lighthouse was of little

service in hazy and foggy weather. The Trinity House, therefore, in

1859, caused a new one to be constructed on the outer part of the

farthest of the celebrated chalk rocks, called the Needles, which was

previously cut down and levelled almost to the water’s edge. This

lighthouse is about 109 feet in height from the base to the top of the

ball, and possesses only one light, with three concentrated wicks,

whose brilliancy, however, is so great that it can be seen fourteen

miles at sea. The shades are alternately white and red. A fog bell is

rung by mechanical agency during stormy weather; its sounds may be

heard at a distance of five miles. The base of the building is 38 feet

in diameter.

* * * * *

Near the south shore of the Isle of Wight rises the remarkable and

picturesque eminence of _St. Catherine’s Hill_, 769 feet above the

level of the sea. It looks down upon the rock-bound sweep of Chale

Bay, which has been the scene of many deplorable catastrophes. From

its summit the traveller commands a prospect of singular beauty,

as remarkable for its extent as for its variety; since it not only

includes by far the larger part of the “garden-isle,” but the green

masses of the New Forest, the blue line of the misty Hampshire hills,

and the undulating range of the coast of Sussex as far as the bold

bluff promontory of Beachy Head. It is said that, in an opposite

direction, the high lands about Cherbourg have occasionally been seen.

On a calm, clear day the island lies at your feet like an open map, and

you can trace each bare bold hill; each valley, dusky with its wealth

of foliage; each village church and manor-house, girt with venerable

trees; each distant town, with its floating canopy of smoke; each

stream that trails like a silver snake through the emerald pastures;

and all around and about, the mighty ocean, heaving with a flood of

glorious light.

On the lofty summit of this hill, one Walter de Godyton, in 1323,

erected a chantry, and dedicated it to St. Catherine, who, in the Roman

Hagiology, is the invariable patroness of hills and mountains. He also

provided an endowment for a priest, who should chant masses, and keep

up a burning light through the hours of darkness, for the safety of

mariners approaching this dangerous coast. This duty was regularly

performed until the suppression of the minor religious houses, when

the priest and his endowment disappeared; though the chantry, built of

solid masonry, remained, and is still to be inspected by the curious.

Many years ago it was carefully repaired, in consideration of its value

as a landmark. The foundation of the whole chapel was then cleared and

levelled, a process revealing not only its ground-plan, but also the

floor and stone hearth of the priest’s little cell at the south-west

corner. Its height is 35 feet 6 inches; its form, octagonal.

Almost adjoining stands the shell of a lighthouse erected in 1785 by

the Trinity Board; but discontinued when it was discovered, as might at

the outset have been surmised, that the mists so often gathering about

the crown of the hill would render it of little service.

The dangerous character of the coast, however, was so widely known,

that the Trinity Board felt it necessary to provide for its better

protection, and in 1838 a lighthouse was commenced on _St. Catherine’s

Point_, at the base of the hill, which was completed in 1840, and

lighted for the first time on the 25th of March. Its dimensions

are:—From the water-mark to the level of terrace, 81 feet. From the

terrace to the top of the stone-work, 100 feet. Height of lantern and

pedestal, 1 foot 6 inches. Extension of glass frame, 10 feet. Roof,

ball, vane, and lightning conductor, 11½ feet. Height of tower, 122

feet. The diameter of the interior is 14 feet; and the staircase to the

lantern-room numbers one hundred and fifty-two steps. The illuminating

apparatus consists of one lamp, 3½ inches diameter, with four

concentrated wicks, reflected through a lens surmounted by two hundred

and fifty mirrors.

St. Catherine’s lighthouse is a graceful structure, and the visitor,

comparing it with the rude chantry on the brow of the hill, where the

solitary priest muttered his orisons and fed his flickering fire, will

obtain a vivid conception of the vast strides made by practical science

in five centuries.

* * * * *

A graphic writer[47] describes the extreme south-western point of

England, the Land’s End, in the following language:—

“Those,” he says, “who expect to see a towering or far-stretching

promontory will be disappointed. We form our ideas from ordinary maps,

and imagine England’s utmost cape to be a narrow tongue thrust out from

the firm shore, along which we may walk to meet the advancing waves.

But we find the reality to be merely a protruding shoulder or buttress

of the vast irregular bluff that terminates the county. Cape Cornwall,

which looks so grand about two miles distant, appears to extend further

to the west than the Land’s End.

“Sit still and gaze: the scene grows upon you. Here the two channels

commingle with the ocean; and far out as eye can reach, and round

on either hand till it meets the remotest point of the rugged shore,

stretches the watery expanse. The billows come tumbling in, and break

in thunder at the base of the cliffs, dashing the impatient spray

well-nigh to their summit. You may descend by steep paths to a lower

level, and see the cavernous opening which their plunging assaults have

worn through from one side of the buttress to the other. With what fury

they rush into the recess, and make horrid whirlpools behind the mass

which some day will be an isolated member of the rocky group scattered

along the shore! There, on the largest of the cluster, nearly two miles

from shore, stands the _Longships Lighthouse_, and all between is foam

and swirl; waves running together, and leaping high with the shock:

a dangerous channel known as the Kettle’s Bottom. See how the water

chafes around the Armed Knight there on the left, and the Irish Lady on

the right, and all the nameless lumps! Yonder, under the cape, at the

extremity of Whitesand Bay, are the Brisons, invested by shipwreck with

a fearful interest.”

[47] Walter White, “A Londoner’s Walk to the Land’s End,” pp. 192, 193.

The _Longships Lighthouse_, mentioned in the foregoing extract, was

erected in 1795 by a Mr. Smith, who received as his reward the right

to level a toll upon shipping for a limited number of years. It was

afterwards purchased of his representatives by the Trinity House.

The tower is built of granite, and the stones are trenailed upon

Smeaton’s plan, as introduced in his great monument of the Eddystone.

The circumference at the base is 62 feet, the height from the base to

the vane of the lantern, and from the sea to the foot of the building,

51 feet. The total height, therefore, exceeds 100 feet. Yet the

lantern-panes, it is said, have been frequently shattered by the waves.

* * * * *

[Illustration: WOLF’S CRAG LIGHTHOUSE.]

About eight miles from this part of the Cornish coast lies a dangerous

rock of greenstone, called the _Wolf’s Crag_, in the midst of a

turbulent swirl and eddy of waters. An attempt was once made to plant

on its summit the figure of an enormous wolf, constructed of copper,

and hollow within, and so constructed that the mouth receiving the

blasts of the gale should emit a loud hoarse sound to warn the seaman

of his peril. The project, however, was rendered abortive by the

violence of the elements.

In 1870 a lighthouse was successfully erected on the Wolf’s Crag;—a

circular tower, 100 feet high.

* * * * *

The uninhabited island of Annette, one of the Scilly group, is

literally surrounded with reefs and rocks, each of which is associated

with some melancholy tale of suffering and death. It has been well

said that they are the “dogs” of Scilly, and fierce as those which,

according to the old fable, howled round the monster of the Italian

seas:—

“But Scylla crouches in the gloom,

Deep in a cavern’s monstrous womb;

Thence darts her ravening mouth, and drags

The helpless vessel on the crags.“[48]

[48] Virgil, “Æneid,” transl. by Conington, bk. iii. 420.

On the Gilstone Sir Cloudesley Shovel, the gallant old sea-captain of

Queen Anne’s reign, was wrecked in 1707; on the Crebawethan perished

the “Douro,” and all hands, in 1843; and on Jacky’s Rock, in 1841,

the “Thames” steamer went to pieces, and out of sixty-five on board

only three were saved. The westernmost of those terrible rocks is

the _Bishop Rock_, and here a lighthouse was erected in 1858, from

the design of Mr. James Walker. It is built of granite, and the vane

is 147 feet above high water mark. The first stone, one of the fifth

course, was laid on the 16th of July 1852; and on the 30th of the same

month was laid the lowest stone, one foot below the level of low water

spring-tides, in the chasm of the rock. The stone-work of the tower

was finished on the 28th of August 1857; and the light, a fixed bright

dioptric light of the first order, illuminating the entire circle,

and visible, in clear weather, at a distance of fourteen miles, was

exhibited on the 1st of September 1858.

[Illustration: BISHOP ROCK LIGHTHOUSE.]

It is satisfactory to add, that this difficult enterprise was carried

to a successful termination without loss of life or serious accident to

any person employed.

* * * * *

[Illustration: LIZARD POINT LIGHTHOUSE.]

One of our most famous English headlands is _Lizard Point_, the

_Ocrinum_ of Ptolemy, the ancient geographer, and the most southerly

promontory of England. Here are two large and massive lighthouses,

whose bases are 168 feet above the sea, and 212 feet apart. Each tower

is 61 feet high, and each lantern contains nineteen reflectors, which

can be seen at a distance of twenty-one miles. Between the two, which

were erected by Mr. Fonnereau, in 1751, and worked with coal-fires up

to the year 1813, are built the residence and offices; so contrived

that a long passage leads from one to the other, whereby the keepers

communicate without going out of doors. “These beacons,” says a recent

writer, “display two lights, to distinguish the Lizard from Scilly,

known to mariners by one, and from Guernsey, which exhibits three.

Notwithstanding, however, the brilliant illumination which is hence

thrown for miles over the sea, ships, embayed in thick weather between

the Lizard and Tol Pedn Penwith, are frequently lost in the vicinity

of this headland, and the cliffs are of such a character that it is

almost impossible to render from them the slightest assistance.”

* * * * *

[Illustration: PLYMOUTH BREAKWATER LIGHTHOUSE.]

The _Plymouth Breakwater_, which protects the great Devonshire harbour

from the furious gales of the Channel, carries on its western arm an

important lighthouse, erected in 1841 to 1844, from the designs of

Messrs. Walker and Burges. It consists of a circular tower, 126 feet in

height from the base of the breakwater, 71 feet above high-water mark,

and 18 feet in diameter at its widest part. It is built of the finest

Cornish granite, and divided into five stories; the highest of which,

the lantern, has a floor of polished slate; the others, of stone. The

light, a dioptric one, has a range of nine miles.

On the dark craggy headland of _Start Point_, about 112 feet above

high-water mark, is situated a lighthouse exhibiting _two_ lights;

a revolving light for the Channel, and a fixed light to guide ships

inshore clear of the Skerries shoal. Mr. White thus describes the tower

and its “belongings:“—

“A substantial house, connected with the tall circular tower, in

a walled enclosure, all nicely whitened, is the residence of the

light-keepers. The buildings stand within a few yards of the verge of

the cliff, the wall serving as parapet, from which you look down on the

craggy slope outside and the jutting rocks beyond—the outermost point.

You may descend by the narrow path, protected also by a low white wall,

and stride and scramble from rock to rock, with but little risk of

slipping, so rough are the surfaces with minute shells.

“A rude steep stair, chopped in the rock, leads down still lower to a

little cove and a narrow strip of beach at the foot of the cliffs. It

is the landing-place for the lighthouse-keepers when they go fishing;

but can only be used in calm weather.

“The assistant-keeper spoke of the arrival of a visitor as a pleasure

in the monotonous life of the establishment. Winter, he said, was a

dreary time, not so much on account of cold, as of storms, fogs, and

wild weather generally. In easterly gales the fury of the wind would

be often such that to walk across the yard was impossible; they had to

crawl under shelter of the wall, and the spray flew from one side of

the Point to the other. But indoors there was no lack of comfort, for

the house was solidly built and conveniently fitted, and the Trinity

Board kept a small collection of books circulating from lighthouse to

lighthouse.”

* * * * *

There are two lighthouses at _Portland Bill_; the lantern of one 136,

and that of the other 210 feet above the sea. Between the chalk cliffs

and a bank called the _Shambles_, foams the wild impetuous current of

the Race of Portland.

* * * * *

The celebrated chalky range of the South Downs terminates on the

Sussex coast in _Beachy Head_, an abrupt precipitous promontory, 575

feet above the sea-level. On a point considerably lower than this

lofty headland, and projecting much further into the sea, stands the

celebrated Belle Tout Lighthouse, erected in 1831.

* * * * *

[Illustration: NORTH FORELAND LIGHTHOUSE.]

The _North Foreland_, one of the great Kentish promontories, is also

crowned by its lighthouse, which dates from 1790. The light is visible

at the Nore, a distance of twenty miles.

[Illustration: SOUTH FORELAND LIGHTHOUSE.]

At the _South Foreland_ lighthouse, a few miles from Dover, the

electric light is used; the electric current being originated by a set

of enormous horse-shoe magnets fixed in a stand, before which a wheel

revolves, loaded with a number of solid iron cylinders. The whole

apparatus is set in motion by a steam-engine.

* * * * *

[Illustration: HOLYHEAD LIGHTHOUSE.]

Both the east and west coasts of our “sea-girt island” are well

provided with warning lights, but a mere enumeration of them would

scarcely be satisfactory to the reader, and a description would prove

as wearisome as a twice-told tale, for the reason stated at the

beginning of this chapter. If we traced the coast-line of Scotland, we

should find it equally well defended; or if we crossed to the Isle of

Man, we should still meet with the monuments of man’s warfare against

the ocean. Then, again, if we cross from Holyhead to Dublin, our

vessel is guided by the stately light which glows upon the Stack Rock,

and by the Bailey Lighthouse at the extremity of the Howth peninsula.

The Bailey on the south, and the Kish Lightship on the north, mark

the extreme points of the beautiful Bay of Dublin. Keeping southward,

along the eastern coast, we descry the lighthouses on the rugged

cliffs of Wicklow Head, and in Tuskar Rock; and, on the south coast,

at Hook Tower, marking the eastern side of the entrance to the port of

Waterford; at Ballinacourty, as a guide to ships entering Dungarvan

Harbour; at Mine Head, and Ballycottin Point, and Roche Point, the

north-eastern boundary of Cork Harbour; and at the Old Head of Kinsale,

whose light is visible for twenty-one nautical miles, and proves

immeasurably welcome to the Briton home-bound from the New World,

because it is the first he sees after his departure from American

waters.

[Illustration: KINSALE LIGHTHOUSE.]

A revolving light, which gradually increases and decreases every two

minutes, is exhibited on the _Fastnet Rock_, a few miles off the

southernmost point of Ireland.

Of iron lighthouses the British coast presents but few examples. The

reader will, therefore, be not unwilling to gain some particulars of

the tower on this well-known rock; a rock rising about 60 feet above

high-water mark. Its iron structure consists, in the main, of the

following parts:[49]—The shell, composed of cast-iron plates; the

hollow cast-iron central column; five cast-iron floors, the uppermost

of which is the platform at the top of the tower, supporting the

lantern; a projecting cast-iron gallery, level with the platform,

sustained by cast-iron brackets, and having a balustrade; an external

iron stair, for access to the doors on the first floor; internal iron

stairs to connect the several floors; a lining of masonry in the

basement, and of brick in the upper stories; and a cut stone moulding

round the base.

[49] Practical Mechanic’s Journal for 1842, p. 265.

[Illustration: FASTNET ROCK LIGHTHOUSE.]

The principal dimensions are as follows:—

Feet. In.

Height of tower from the base to the gallery 63 9

Height of lamp above the gallery 11 0

Total height of the lantern 30 0

Outside diameter at base, over stone moulding 23 0

Outside diameter over cast-iron shell 19 0

Outside diameter just below the cornice 13 11¼

Outside diameter of tower casing at light-room floor 13 8¼

Outside diameter of gallery, to outer ends of brackets 19 10¼

Inside diameter of cellar, or basement story 9 0

Inside diameter of each of the other four stories 12 0

Clear height of cellar 9 0

Clear height of each of the other four stories 12 0

Total thickness of each floor 0 9

The plates composing the cast-iron shell are curved, oblong,

rectangular, and 1⅜ inch thick at the base, diminishing gradually to ⅞

inch at the top of the tower.

[Illustration: MAPLIN SANDS LIGHTHOUSE.]

This lighthouse was erected in 1848, from the design of Mr. Halpin,

engineer to the Corporation of Dublin.

* * * * *

Of lighthouses on piles we shall take as an example the _Maplin

Sands Lighthouse_, designed by Mr. Walker, for the Trinity House

Corporation, and erected in 1841.

It stands upon nine piles of wrought-iron, each 26 feet long and 5

inches in diameter: these are screwed 14 feet 6 inches deep into

the sand, and secured by screw-blades of cast-iron, each 4 feet in

diameter. One pile forms the centre of an octagon; the others are

placed one at each of the eight angles. To the tops of the piles are

firmly fitted hollow iron columns; the central one being perpendicular,

the others bent, so that they incline inwards. They are braced together

by radiating, diagonal, and horizontal rods. Each terminates at the

top in a socket, into which is fitted a timber post of about one foot

square. The posts, like the columns, are braced together, and form the

foundation of the house, platform, and lantern.

The principal dimensions are as follows:—

Feet. In.

Depth of the screw-blades below the sand, about 14 6

Depth of the screw-blades below low-water mark spring-tides 21 0

Rise of spring-tides 15 0

Height from high-water mark spring-tides to floor of house 20 6

Height from high-water mark to floor of light-room 29 6

Height from high-water mark to lamp 38 6

Height from high-water mark to top of vane spindle 54 0

Diameter of floor of house 27 0

Diameter of platform 21 0

Diameter of light-room 12 0

A lighthouse of this kind is excellently adapted for any locality where

the light does not require to be seen at a great distance. The piles

offer no appreciable opposition to the waves, which pass through the

open spaces without rising higher than out at sea.

* * * * *

The _Gunfleet Lighthouse_ stands on seven screw piles, screwed 40 feet

deep into the sand. The _Point of Ayre Lighthouse_, on nine, screwed 12

feet into the sand.

* * * * *

Before we conclude these desultory notes, it seems desirable to refer

to a lighthouse now in course of erection, which is not unworthy to

rank with the finest of its predecessors.

About midway between the famous Skerryvore Lighthouse and that of the

Rhins of Islay—or 20 miles from Islay, 18 miles from Colonsay, 15 miles

from Iona, and 15 miles from Mull—in the centre of an archipelago

which ancient legend, and ecclesiastical history, and modern romance

have done their best to render celebrated—lies the _Dubhe Artach_ (or

_St. John’s_) _Rock_. It forms an isolated mass of augite about 240

feet in length by 43 feet in breadth, whose rounded summit rises 47

feet above high-water mark. In stormy weather the sea sweeps over it

with terrific violence, and for miles around it boils and seethes with

counter-currents and opposing waves. During the severe gales of the

winter of 1865-66 many ships were lost in this dangerous neighbourhood,

and it was therefore determined by the Commissioners of Northern

Lighthouses, with the sanction of the Trinity House and Board of Trade,

to erect a lighthouse on the Dubhe Artach.

The material of the rock is so excessively hard that the works, at

first, could not be carried forward with much rapidity. Neither in the

building of the Eddystone nor of the Skerryvore could the engineers

have had greater difficulties to contend with. A foundation has,

however, been at last obtained, and several courses of the masonry

securely laid, so that the elegant structure, designed by Messrs.

D. and T. Stevenson of Edinburgh, will, in another twelvemonth, be

completed. Its estimated cost is £56,900. It consists of a parabolic

frustrum, whose topmost course is 109 feet above its base. The diameter

at the bottom measures 36 feet, at the top 16 feet. There will be seven

apartments besides the light-room. The total height of the lantern

above the sea will be 154 feet, commanding a range of about eighteen

miles.

* * * * *

[Illustration: ALGUADA REEF LIGHTHOUSE.]

Lastly, we propose to wander away from the shores of the United

Kingdom, though not to trespass beyond the confines of British

territory. Had our limits permitted, we might have entered upon a

description of the Australian and North American pharoses, of the

lighthouse at Perim, of the lighthouses on the coast of Hindustan; but

such a multiplicity of details would assuredly have wearied the reader.

Yet, as a proof that our engineering operations in this department are

not less skilfully and boldly executed abroad than at home, we shall

adduce, in terminating this chapter, the noble structure situated on

the Alguada Reef.

This reef lies a few miles to the southward of Cape Negrais, the

south-west promontory of Pegu, near one of the mouths of the great

Irrawady river. Being thrown, as it were, directly in the track of

vessels sailing from Calcutta to the thriving ports of Moulmein and

Rangoon, it was a constant danger to the mariner; for the sea, except

in the calmest weather, always dashes against it with restless fury,

and no vessel cast upon it can hope to escape. The late Marquis of

Dalhousie, appreciating its perilous character, designed to erect a

lighthouse upon it; but no action was taken in the matter until 1856,

when the loss of a coolie ship and 286 lives induced Lord Canning to

resume his predecessor’s project.

The stone had to be brought from Pulo Obin, near Singapore, a distance

of 1200 miles; and it was not until January 1860 that the work of

excavating the foundation was commenced. On February 14, 1861, the

first stone was laid, and thenceforth the work proceeded bravely,

though entirely carried on by Coolie labour. The light, a first-class

holophotal light, designed by Messrs. D. and T. Stevenson of Edinburgh,

was first kindled on April 23, 1865, at an elevation of 144 feet above

high-water mark. It commands a range of twenty nautical miles.

In general appearance the Alguada Reef Lighthouse resembles the

Skerryvore, after which, indeed, it was designed, by Captain Fraser;

but it surpasses its model in its dimensions.

* * * * *

[Here we conclude our sketches of celebrated lighthouses; structures,

we think, scarcely less deserving of the public interest and

admiration, than the triumphal arches and stately columns erected

to the memory of successful generals, or the superb palaces which

enshrine the magnificence of kings and princes. For every lighthouse,

be it remembered, is a proof of formidable engineering difficulties

successfully overcome, and, therefore, rises before us as an impressive

monument of human ingenuity, skill, and perseverance, exerted, for

the noblest of purposes—for the preservation of human life, for the

prevention of that misery and grief and deep-abiding sorrow which are

the invariable consequences of the “wreck ashore.“]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

BOOK IV.

_LIGHTHOUSES IN FRANCE._

CHAPTER I.

THE TOUR DE CORDOUAN.[50]

“Truly mysterious is the Channel, in that narrow gullet where it

engulfs the waves of the North Sea. Violent are the waters of Brittany,

as they eddy to and fro in the ravines of its basaltic coast. But the

Gulf of Gascony, from Cordouan to Biarritz, is a sea of contradictions;

an enigma of strife and struggle. As it stretches southward, it

suddenly acquires an extraordinary depth, and becomes an abyss in which

the waters are swallowed up. An ingenious naturalist has compared it

to a gigantic funnel, which abruptly absorbs all that is poured into

it. The flood, escaping from it under an awful pressure, remounts to a

height of which our seas afford no other example.”[51]

[50] Our account of the French lighthouses is mainly taken from M.

Rénard’s interesting brochure, “Les Phares” (Hachette, 1867).

[51] Michelet, “La Mer.”

The eloquent historian of the sea does not paint in colours too vivid

the raging excesses of the Gulf of Gascony; and, therefore, from a

remote epoch, the French government have sought to guard against its

dangers by securing a proper lightage of the entrance of the Gironde.

To trace the origin of the Lighthouse of Cordouan we must go back to

a very distant antiquity. Unfortunately we know little of the history

of this marvellous erection on a craggy platform, which is alternately

covered and exposed by the waves at every tide. It is certain that

the present structure had, at least, two predecessors. If tradition

may be credited, the first was raised by Louis the Débonnair. But as

no document is extant to support this hypothesis, we are inclined

to believe that no lighthouse was built there until the thirteenth

century, and that it was then erected in compliance with the urgent

request of the merchants of Cordova, and foreign merchants trading

in the wines of Bordeaux. Matthew Paris records, in his well-known

“Chronicles,” that the Moors having been driven back to the extreme

south of Spain, extensive commercial relations were established at this

epoch (1236) between the Gascons and the cities of Cordova and Seville.

Hence came the name of Cordouan. That this etymology is contradicted

by many scholars, and even turned into jest, we are aware, but to

ridicule is not to prove. What appears certain is, that the town of

Cordova (said to contain 300,000 souls in the thirteenth century, and

the ancient capital of the Khalifate of the same name) had two reasons

instead of one for demanding the establishment of a lighthouse at the

mouth of the Gironde; for its merchants visited Bordeaux not only to

deal in its wines, but to sell their hides and leather, renowned then

as now for their fineness and excellent quality.

* * * * *

But passing from the domains of conjecture to those of history, we

know that the second lighthouse was built in the fourteenth century

(1362-70), by the order of Edward the Black Prince. This lighthouse was

48 feet in height. It terminated in a platform, where was kindled a

fire of wood under the charge of a holy hermit, who received in reward

of his labours a toll from each vessel of two groats sterling. It is

generally believed that the rock on which the lighthouse stood was,

at that epoch, still united to the Médoc coast. The configuration of

the soil, the distance, the depth of the channel, the ravages still

effected by the sea at Soulac and at the Point de Grave, are arguments

in favour of this opinion.

The lighthouse built by the Black Prince did not stand alone upon

its rock. As a companion it had a chapel, raised in honour of the

Virgin Mary, and several houses, constructed in this sacred locality,

gradually formed a kind of village. Here dwelt the hermit, his

assistants, and, probably, a small number of pilots and fishermen.

An engraving of the date of the fifteenth century represents this

ancient tower as an octagonal building, with elongated quadrangular

openings. It is doubled, so to speak, up to its first story, with an

exterior casing of stone, forming an additional protection. Some of the

houses which formerly occupied this particular site were existing at

the epoch when the drawing was executed.

[Illustration: ANCIENT TOWER OF CORDOUAN.]

The lighthouse, which at the present time so justly extorts the

admiration of all its visitors, was constructed, not on the ruins,

but by the side of its predecessor. Begun in 1584 by Louis de Foix, a

Parisian architect, to whom Philip II. confided at a later date the

building of the Escorial, it was not completed until 1600, and then by

his son. Including the solid mass of the platform or base, the tower

was 60 feet high, and including the stone lantern, 70 feet. At the

date of its erection, the ground was, as undoubtedly it for a long

time had been, completely separated from the mainland, and formed an

island of a certain extent—the “Isle of Cordouan,” says Louis de Foix

himself, in the contract signed with the authorities of Guienne for

the construction of the tower. This island has since disappeared, as

well as the houses and chapel of which we have spoken; and now, at the

foot of the monument, are only the bare rock and some tongues of sand

completely covered at high water.

The pharos, as it issued from the hands of the Des Foix, father and

son, consisted of a circular platform protected by a broad parapet, and

of the tower, which was divided into four stories, not including the

lantern. The ground floor presented a great vestibule of a quadrangular

form, with four little recesses which served for magazines. Staircases

placed in the embrasures of the entrance-gate and of the two windows

led to the cellars and the water-tank. On either side of the doorway,

prior to the Revolution, were busts of Henry III. and Henry IV. On the

first story, which bore the title—probably without any justification—of

“the King’s Chamber,” was a saloon of the same dimensions as the

vestibule, but more richly decorated, from which access was obtained to

the first exterior gallery. A chapel, circular in shape, occupied the

second story, and was illuminated by two rows of windows, covered by

a spherical vault, and enriched with Corinthian pilasters and elegant

sculptures. Above the door of the chapel stood the bust of Louis de

Foix; and the following sonnet, composed in the purest _galimatias_ of

the time, was engraved on a large tablet above it:—

QVAND IADMIRE RAVI CEST ŒVVRE EN MON COVRAGE

MON DE FOIX MON ESPRIT EST EN ESTONNEMENT.

PORTE DANS LES PENSERS DE MON ENTENDEMENT

LE GENTIL INGENIEVX DE CE SVPERBE OVVRAGE.

LA IL DISCOVRT EN LVY ET DVN MVET LANGAGE

TE VA LOVANT SVBTIL EN CE POINT MESMEMENT

QUE TV BRIDES LES FLOTS DV GRONDEVX ELEMENT

ET DVN MVTIN NEPTVNE LA TEMPESTE ET LORAGE.

O TROIS ET QVATRE FOIS BIENHEVREVX TON ESPRIT

DE CE QVAV FRONT DRESSE CE PHARE IL ENTREPRIT

POVR SE PERPETVER DANS LHEVREVSE MEMOIRE.

TV TES AQVIS PAR LA VN HONNEVR INFINI

QVI NE FINIRA POINT QVE CE PHARE DE GLOIRE

LE MONDE FINISSANT NE SE RENDE FINY.

All the parts of the primitive construction still exist, and have

undergone but little alteration during successive restorations; but

such is not the case with the upper portion, which has been completely

destroyed, from the gradual sinking of the tower.

Above the second gallery, the dome of the chapel was ornamented on the

outside by richly sculptured dormer-windows, forming the second tier

of windows of that story. It was surmounted by a circular pavilion,

vaulted, and decorated with composite pilasters, whose entablature

was crowned by the open balustrade of an outer gallery leading into

the lantern. This lantern—whose dimensions were somewhat limited—was

built of hewn stone, and composed of eight arcades, whose piers were

embellished with columns, and whose cupola terminated in a shaft to

carry off the smoke of the furnace.

Under Louis XV., in 1727, an iron structure was substituted for this

stone lantern, whose masonry had been calcined by the fire, and whose

broad piers, moreover, had the serious inconvenience of obscuring a

very considerable portion of the light; but the furnace was kept at the

same elevation; namely, about 120 feet above the level of the highest

seas.

This elevation, as it did not enable the light to be seen at a

sufficient distance, was soon pronounced unsatisfactory. A scheme to

raise it 100 feet was planned by the Chevalier de Borda, who submitted

it to Teulère, the chief engineer to the city of Bordeaux. The latter

pointed out that it was both imperative and possible to increase the

height by 65 feet. His designs were accepted, and their successful

execution, in 1788 and 1789, in spite of many dangers, procured for

Teulère a reputation scarcely inferior to that of De Foix himself.

The light is now placed at an elevation above high-water level of 190

feet, and above the ground of 205 feet. But, regarded from an artistic

point of view, we must confess that the lighthouse has by no means

gained. There is a certain dryness about the too naked forms of the

modern construction, which contrasts in a manner much to be deplored

with the elegance and richness of the Renaissance work. The present

summit (_couronnement_) is by no means equal to that which formerly

existed. Yet, as Reynaud justly observes, the first impression which

the edifice produces leaves no room for regret; you are penetrated with

a profound feeling of admiration the moment you find yourself in the

presence of this majestic monument, towering with so sublime a boldness

above the bosom of the ocean.

[Illustration: PRESENT LIGHTHOUSE OF CORDOVA.]

These emotions have been finely expressed by Michelet in his noble book

on “the Sea.”

“During our six month‘ sojourn on this shore,” he says, “our ordinary

object of contemplation—I had almost said, our daily society—was

Cordouan. We felt keenly how its position as guardian of the seas,

as the constant watcher of the strait, made of it an individuality.

Erect against the broad eastern horizon, it appeared under a

hundred varied aspects. Sometimes, in a belt of glory, it triumphed

under the sun; sometimes, pale and indistinct, it hovered through the

mist, no augury of good. At evening, when it abruptly kindled its red

light, and darted forth its glance of fire, it seemed like a zealous

inspector, who watched over the waters, impressed and disquieted by

his responsibility. Whatever occurred at sea was attributed to it.

By illuminating the tempest, it was frequently a source of safety,

and yet men ascribed to it the storm. It is thus that Ignorance too

often treats Genius, accusing it of the evils which it reveals. Even

we ourselves were not just. If it delayed lighting up, if bad weather

came, we censured it, we growled at it. ‘Ah, Cordouan, Cordouan, thou

white phantom! canst thou, then, bring us nought but storms?’”

* * * * *

During the last few years a complete restoration of the lighthouse

of Cordouan has been carried out, with the view of replacing the

stones—and they were numerous—injured by the weather, and of renewing

the sculptures, which it was difficult to trace, they were so worn

and abraded. All the buildings which at different times had been

erected against the platform-wall to supply the insufficiency of

dwelling-apartments in the lighthouse, have been reconstructed. And

in 1854 arrangements were made to distinguish it from neighbouring

lights; it has now a revolving light, white and red, with a range of

twenty-seven miles.

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE CORDOVA LIGHTHOUSE.]

The introduction of the dioptric apparatus into the Cordouan lighthouse

took place long ago; it belongs, in fact, to the earliest experiments

of Fresnel, for it is a peculiarity worth notice in the annals of this

patriarch of pharoses, that attention has always been directed to it

when any question has arisen of testing a new invention. It was one

of the first which saw the inconvenient and unsatisfactory _chauffer_

replaced, as a means of lightage, by oil lamps. In 1782 it was provided

with at least eighty of these, each accompanied by a reflector. A few

years later, when Teulère had furnished Borda with the elements of the

catoptric system, the largest apparatus was immediately installed at

Cordouan (1790). Finally, when Augustin Fresnel, in his turn, invented

the lenticular system, it was at Cordouan that experiments were first

made with the most important model.

Considering, then, the numerous and valuable services which Cordouan

has rendered, we ask ourselves, says M. Rénard,[52] whether, among the

numerous monuments raised by the pride and daring of man, there are

many of so much respectability as this “Patriarch of the Lighthouses!”

We cannot acknowledge that any one of them is so justly deserving of

our reverent admiration. Nobler, far nobler, and of infinitely greater

utility, than the trophies by which the conqueror has tracked his

bloody path, or the pompous boundary-stones erected by nations at each

stage of their history, it will also be of a more permanent character.

For these belong only to individuals or peoples: Cordouan belongs to

the whole human race.

[52] Rénard, “Les Phares,” pp. 145-158.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER II.

THE LIGHTHOUSES OF CAPE LA HEVE.

A.D. 1774.

Doux feux qui protégez et Thétis et la Seine,

Sûrs et brillants rivaux des deux frères d’Hélène,

Phares, je vous salue; assurez à jamais

Le commerce opulent de l’heureuse Neustrie;

Fixez dans ma patrie

L’abondance, les arts, tous les fruits de la paix.

Casimir Delavigne.

Ye fires which guard both Thetis and the Seine,

Bright shining compeers of the brothers twain—

Castor and Pollux—vigilant fires, all hail!

O gentle lights, I pray ye, never fail

To guide secure each wealthy Neustrian keel,

And to my country all the fruits reveal

Of blessèd peace, and guard the common weal!

No one can have visited Havre without devoting at least an hour to

the Cape La Hève, and to the two lighthouses which have extorted from

Casimir Delavigne his poetical homage. A pilgrimage to this point is

made all the more willingly that the pilgrim who accomplishes it must

necessarily pass through Sainte-Adresse, and Sainte-Adresse—need we

remind the reader?—is one of the marvels of Normandy.

“The delicious vale of Tempe, which the poets of all time have pleased

themselves with investing in the riches of their imagination, possesses

no attraction which the valley of Sainte-Adresse need envy: its limpid

waters, the gently sloping hills which enclose it, the little gardens

where for once the hand of Art has not defaced and desecrated the

work of Nature; the pure ethereal freshness which it inhales from the

breath of its myriad flowers, and which the wind of the plain never

respires;—all charms, all seduces, and we exclaim, Happy he who can

spend his life in an abode which Flora and Pomona embellish! The

goddess Hygeia resides there throughout the year, and, by a happy

alliance with Boreas, both contend for the pleasure of protecting this

new Eden against the hideous host of human infirmities. Painters, seize

your brushes, and let its image revive on your imitative canvas; poets,

come hither in quest of inspiration!”

It is thus that Morlent expresses himself in his “Monographie du

Havre.” It is true that Morlent—as the reader will conjecture—wrote in

1825. Since that date many things have greatly changed—the descriptive

style as well as the valley of Sainte-Adresse, which is no longer

anything else than a suburb of Havre, covered with edifices of a more

or less picturesque character.

* * * * *

The most curious thing which Sainte-Adresse has preserved is the

story of the origin of its name. Namely: that a vessel driven by the

currents into the immediate vicinity of the promontory of La Hève,

which then extended a greater distance into the sea, was on the point

of perishing. Already the despairing sailors had given up further

efforts; the pilot, having abandoned the rudder, imitated the rest

of the crew, and commended his soul to St. Denis, patron-saint of

Caux,[53] whose spire was at intervals visible through the haze. “My

friends,” said the captain, who in these circumstances had retained

his presence of mind, “it is not St. Denis we must invoke, but

_Sainte-Adresse_ (St. Skill), for it is only she who at this crisis

can carry us safely into port.” The sailors regained courage; the

ship entered Havre; and the phrase “Sainte-Adresse” became everywhere

popular.

[53] Saint-Denys-Chef-de-Caux was formerly the port of the town now

called Sainte-Adresse. Here Henry V. disembarked, in 1415, when he laid

siege to Harfleur. But the sea, gradually encroaching on the Cape, has

destroyed the village, the port, and the church where St. Denys was

worshipped.

In reference to La Hève, the great writer, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, a

native of Havre, relates a fantastic legend:—

“The Seine”—it is Cephas, one of the personages of _the Arcadia_, who

speaks—“the daughter of Bacchus and nymph of Ceres, had pursued into

the land of the Gauls the goddess of wheat, when she was seeking all

the earth over for her daughter Proserpine. When Ceres had terminated

her wanderings, the Seine begged of her, as a reward for her services,

the meadows through which the river at present flows. The goddess

consented, and granted, moreover, that wine should grow wherever the

daughter of Bacchus planted her feet. She left then the Seine upon

these shores, and gave her as her companion and follower the nymph

Héva, who was bidden to watch beside her, for fear she might be carried

away by some god of the sea, as her daughter Proserpine had been by the

god of Hades. One day while the Seine was amusing herself on the sands

in quest of shells, and when she fled, with loud cries, before the

blue sea-waves which sometimes wetted her feet, Héva, her companion,

discovered under the waters the white locks, the empurpled visage, and

azure robe of Neptune. This god had come from the Orcades after a great

earthquake, and was traversing the shores of Ocean, examining with his

trident whether their foundations had been shattered. On seeing him,

Héva shrieked loudly, and at her warning cry the Seine immediately

fled towards the meadows. But the sea-god had also descried the nymph

of Ceres, and moved by her brightness and charming mien, he drove his

sea-horses in swift pursuit. Just as he was on the point of overtaking

her, she cried upon Bacchus her father, and Ceres her mistress. Both

heard her; and as Neptune stretched forth his arms to seize her,

all the body of the Seine dissolved into water; her green veil and

vestments, which the winds fluttered before her, were changed into

emerald waves; she was transformed into a river of the same colour,

which still finds a pleasure in winding through the scenes she had

loved in her days of nymph-hood: but what is best worthy of notice is,

that Neptune, despite the metamorphosis, has never ceased to love her,

as is also said of the river Alpheus with regard to the fountain of

Arethusa. But if the god of ocean has preserved his passion for the

Seine, the Seine still cherishes her antipathy to him. Twice a day he

pursues her with awful roar; and each time the Seine flies from him

into the green inlands, ascending towards her source, contrary to the

natural course of rivers.[54] And ever she separates her green waters

from the cerulean billows of ocean.

[54] It is almost unnecessary to say that Saint-Pierre here refers to

the _mascaret_, or “bore,” of the Seine.

“Héva died of sorrow for the loss of her mistress. But the Nereids, to

reward her for her fidelity, raised to her memory on the shore a tomb

of black and white stones, which are visible from a great distance. By

a celestial artifice, they also enclosed in them an echo, that Héva,

after her death, might both by sight and hearing forewarn the sailor

of the dangers of the sea. This tomb is yonder precipitous mountain,

composed of funereal strata of white and black stones. It still bears

the name of Héva.”

* * * * *

Cape La Hève, the ancient promontory of the Caletes, is one of the

jetties, or breakwaters, of the great embouchure of the Seine; in the

tenth century, it extended far into the sea, and made an integral part

of the bank of l’Eclat, which is now separated from it by a channel

upwards of 2000 yards in width. The bank, as its name indicates,

has been broken up by a sudden eruption of the currents, or by an

earthquake. Nor has ocean ceased its ravages, for it is calculated that

its waters encroach seven feet upon the land every year.

[Illustration: LIGHTHOUSES OF CAPE LA HEVE.]

If we may credit an old chronicle, the origin of the two lighthouses

of La Hève is very ancient. They date back to the epoch when Harfleur

was the rendezvous of Spanish fleets. The tower which then surmounted

the groyne (_groing_) of Caux had been constructed in 1364; a fire

was kindled on its summit in all weathers, and it was called the

_Tour des Castillans_. Not a vestige was extant when the incessant

representations of merchants and seamen determined the Government of

Louis XV. to comply with the instance of the Chamber of Normandy by

constructing the lighthouses which now illuminate the port of Havre.

The buildings represented in the accompanying illustration were

erected in 1774. Surmounted at first by _chauffers_ in which coal was

burned, each of them was crowned in 1781 by a lantern containing an

illuminating apparatus of sixteen spherical reflectors, some lit up by

three, and the others by two broad wicks. There were forty burners in

the apparatus. The double paraboloidal reflectors of Bordier-Marceat,

six to each lighthouse, were substituted for these faulty appliances in

1811 and 1814, and their number increased to ten in 1819. Finally, in

1845, the towers were restored and modified in their superstructure, so

as to fit them for receiving the lenticular apparatus, and lanterns of

12 feet in diameter.[55] In the meantime, suitable dwellings for the

light-keepers were erected between the two towers. Each keeper has two

apartments, a closet, a store-room, and a wood-shed, which stands in an

enclosed court. He is not, therefore, indifferently accommodated.

[55] These towers have recently undergone another alteration, and are

now lit by the electrical apparatus; giving a light equal to 5000

Carcel burners, and visible for upwards of 27 miles.

* * * * *

The elevations of the La Hève lighthouses present a very imposing

appearance. The view from their summit is singularly impressive,

and has even been compared by travellers to that of Corinth and

Constantinople. When the air is clear, and the sky unclouded, the

spectator can see as far as Barfleur on the south-west; on the west,

Honfleur, Trouville, and the little picturesque bathing places on the

Normandy coast: Villers, Houlgate, Cabourg, Beuzeval; and finally, in

the remote distance, La Hogue, the scene of Admiral Russel’s celebrated

victory. To the north, he discerns the Cape of Antifer, and the rent

and sombre rocks of Etretat.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER III.

THE LIGHTHOUSE OF THE HEAUX OF BREHAT.

A.D. 1836-1840.

One of the most important of the French lighthouses is that whose

brilliant fixed light radiates nightly over the vast and dangerous

space comprised between the coast of Brittany and the Roches-Douvres.

In our opulent cities it would be considered a monument of the first

rank, and its celebrity would, perhaps, rival the renown of the towers

of the Eddystone and the Bell Rock, if, like them, it numbered as many

years, and had been erected at an epoch when engineering science was

less advanced than is the case in the present day.

As a matter of justice, however, we may remark that, notwithstanding

the self-reliance of its celebrated constructor, when he cast the

foundations of his edifice on the formidable rocks of the Epées de

Tréguier—notwithstanding his thorough acquaintance with the labours of

his predecessors—M. Léonce Reynaud found himself called upon to meet

and conquer difficulties scarcely less numerous or less arduous than

those so successfully vanquished by a Smeaton and a Stevenson.

These obstacles were of such a formidable character that the French

Lighthouse Commission long hesitated, when deciding on the erection of

a lighthouse at the mouth of the gulf which extends between Brittany

and the Cotentin, whether its site should be on the mainland or out

at sea. The rock on which the choice of the engineers finally rested

was part of a group which the sea nearly overwhelms at high tide. It

was evident, therefore, that the artificers would only be able to work

for a certain number of hours daily. More, the ocean-currents of the

region in which it was situated were proverbially very violent; their

rate of speed was not less than eight knots per second, and when their

force is augmented by the agitation of a tempest, the billows rage

with excessive and formidable fury, swelling to enormous heights, and

filling the air with their clash and clangour.

Nothing daunted by these difficulties, our engineers set to work, and

commenced the erection of the workmen’s sheds. These were planted on

the isle of Bréhat, at about three league‘ distance from the rock.

In addition to the fact that this island possesses numerous perfectly

sheltered harbours, it is placed by the currents under quite peculiar

conditions with respect to the rock of the Héaux: the ebb-tide swings

from the island to the rock, and the flood rushes from the rock to

the island; and it is exactly at low water that disembarkations must

take place. Finally, the island presented all the resources desirable

for the accommodation and provisioning of the numerous artificers

whose services were called into requisition by so considerable an

undertaking.

In one of the havens a jetty of rough stones, about 170 feet in length,

was constructed, to facilitate the embarkations and disembarkations,

which would necessarily be very frequent. The harbour, that of La

Corderie, was exactly opposite the Héaux. In addition to the boats

which transported to the rock the materials prepared _in_ the island,

a very large flotilla was employed in conveying the rough materials,

drawn from all quarters, _to_ the island. The granite came from the

Ile-Grande, situated about ten leagues to the westward; the lime

from the basin of the Loire; Saint-Malo furnished the timber; and,

finally, as the wells of Bréhat did not supply sufficient water for the

additional population and the uses of the artificers, water, as well as

provisions, was obtained from the mainland.

Sixty artificers formed the “army of labour” organized to carry out

all M. Raynaud’s bold designs. Lodgings had to be provided for them,

inasmuch as the navigation was too uncertain, and the time during

which boats could anchor much too short, to admit of their being daily

carried back to the mainland. Fortunately, at a very short distance

from the place chosen for the works, two aiguilles, or needle-rocks,

were found, sufficiently elevated to remain constantly above the level

of the water. The interval between them was filled up partly with

rough stones and partly with masonry, until an elevation of thirteen

feet above the sea was secured; and a platform was thus constructed

sufficiently durable for the purpose to which it was intended to

put it. Here were planted the huts of the men, and the framework of

a beacon which was to carry a provisional light. You may suppose,

gentle reader, that there was no room to be wasted. In the beacon was

placed, besides the store-room and the keeper’s lodgings, the chamber

for the accommodation of the engineer; his bivouacking hut was on

the right; by blowing up a portion of the rock, a long but narrow

apartment was obtained for the overseers; on the left, in front,

stood the kitchen and larder; at the side, the workmen’s dining-room;

behind, their sitting and bed-room, which was well filled. The beds

were placed as close to each other as possible, in two tiers. A third

range was situated in the refectory, above the table. And, lastly, on

a projecting crag, to the left, means had been found to erect a small

forge, which had but one defect, that it was often impossible to keep

it lighted at high water.

At first the workmen were allowed to supply themselves as they pleased

with provisions; but some cases of scurvy having broken out, the

engineer felt the necessity of enforcing upon them a regular bill of

fare. For this purpose he established a canteen, and bound down its

owner to keep a stock sufficient for six week‘ supply, as a precaution

against possible bad weather, which might cut off all communication

with the mainland. At this canteen each workman was compelled to

obtain his rations. Other hygienic measures were adopted. The hammocks

were every morning exposed in the open air, and once a week the

lodging-rooms were lime-washed. Once a week, too, the whole company

bathed. Thanks to these precautions, the terrible malady whose approach

had been apprehended was driven from the island, and the sanitary

condition of so great a number of men herded together in a very

limited compass remained constantly satisfactory.

Every day, as soon as the tide had ebbed, the artificers repaired to

work, and the hours for meals were so arranged that no interruption

took place while the tide lasted. When the rising waters forced them

to abandon the rock, a bell gave the signal. They then hastened to

cover with a cement which hardened instantaneously the portions of

masonry which had just been finished, and took refuge in their abodes.

Sometimes, however, it would happen that the sea rose with unusual

rapidity; woe, then, to the tardy! They had no other resource but to

throw themselves into the water before its depth became dangerous;

an amusement for the on-lookers, and almost their only one. Thanks

to these measures of order and supervision, the engineer had not to

regret the loss of any of the members of his laborious little colony;

although, during the course of their works, many ships, and, still more

unfortunately, several visitors, perished.

* * * * *

Let us now say a few words respecting the work itself.

The principal difficulty of the operation consisted in erecting the

submarine portion of the building. Once the level of high-water mark

was reached, the men could not only carry on their labours more

conveniently, but were relieved from the most critical chances.

Thenceforth they had nothing further to do with the sea than as

regarded the process of landing, and to a certain extent they built

upon an island. But on this artificial island everything depended, and

in its formation every precaution had to be studied.

The rock on which the lighthouse rests consists of an extremely hard

and resistant black porphyry. Nevertheless, as in some places it

showed numerous fissures, the work began with the removal of all the

superficial part, so as to secure a properly sound basis; and as, at

the same time, it was of great importance that the foundation should

never be exposed, M. Reynaud adopted the necessary measures to sink it

completely in the rock. With this view, an annular surface of 38 feet

in diameter, destined to support the hewn stone work, was excavated in

the porphyry to a depth of about twenty inches, and dressed with the

utmost exactitude; a labour of excessive difficulty on account of the

tenacity of the rock, but a certain safeguard against future danger. In

the groove thus protected by the whole mass of porphyry were deposited

the first courses. As for the part of the rock corresponding to the

interior of the tower, no special necessity for extra precautions

existing in respect to it, it was left in its rough state, with simply

a layer of concrete.

* * * * *

With a view to that stability which has become for the engineer a

principle of elegance, the building, 155 feet in height, has been

divided into two principal parts. The first, concave at its base, is

of solid masonry up to three feet three inches above the level of the

highest tides; its diameter at the base is 38 feet, and at its summit

28 feet. The second, reposing on this impregnable foundation, presents

that measure of lightness which would have been considered suitable for

a tower of the same elevation built upon the mainland. The thickness of

the wall is 50 inches below, and 30 inches above.

As for the methods adopted by the architect, it does not seem necessary

to describe them in detail; they would only prove interesting to

readers of scientific acquirements. Yet we feel disinclined to pass

over in silence a bold conception which does honour to M. Reynaud;

namely, that, contrary to a generally accepted idea, it is not

necessary in works of this kind to bind together all the stones as a

whole, under a supposition that the sea may sweep them away during

or after the execution of the works. Thus, in the lighthouses of the

Eddystone and the Bell Rock, all the stones in the lower courses are

dove-tailed into one another after the most ingenious designs, and

held together by plugs of iron and wood. Unquestionably, says Reynaud,

these arrangements are not without efficacy; but it is doubtful whether

sufficient reasons for them exist. Perhaps they even present more

inconveniencies than advantages, for, in addition to their cost, they

necessitate a troublesome delay in the execution of works which it is

of importance to raise as rapidly as possible above the level of the

sea.

The architect of the lighthouse of the Héaux has not, then, fixed each

single stone; he has confined himself to arresting at certain points

the total mass of water which he supposed might be set in motion during

each tide. Consequently each layer was divided, for this purpose, into

a certain number of portions; twelve for the lower, and eight for the

upper courses. All the stones of these great key-stones rested one

upon another by means of salient and re-entering edges; and, more,

those of the angles were securely fastened to the course beneath by

plugs of granite. Experience has proved this simple arrangement to be

sufficient; no injury has occurred to contradict the principle on which

it was founded.

Such are the means by which this almost unequalled pharos of the

Héaux was completed. It occupied six years in erection. The first

was employed in examining the localities and perfecting the plans;

the second, in the establishment of the cabins and the formation of

the groove in the rock; the third, in the construction of the solid

masonry; during the fourth, the tower was raised as far as the first

gallery; in the fifth, a little above the cornice; finally, in 1839,

the lantern was fixed and lighted. The monument bears the following

inscription: “This edifice, commenced in 1836, was completed in 1839,

in the reign of Louis Philippe.”

Rapid and successful as was the work, it was nevertheless marked

by some accidents. At the commencement of the campaign of 1836,

all the machines were in their places, and preparations were being

made to lay the first stone, when the whole was swept away by an

extraordinary wave. We have heard the engineer describe the cruel

regret he experienced on arriving at the rock, after having been

separated from it for three days by the tempest, and discovering all

his works prostrated, most of his artificers wounded, the whole of

them demoralized, and in the midst of the confusion the seamen, who

had never been willing to believe in the feasibility of the matter,

laughing aloud. He did not lose his courage, and skilfully revived the

ardour of his men at the same time that he raised anew his apparatus.

A “crab” was planted on the precipitous rock, at whose foot the

barges brought alongside, and the materials were transported with the

assistance of a railway laid down on the precipice which separated

this natural landing-place from the site of the tower.

[Illustration: ERECTION OF THE LIGHTHOUSE OF THE HEAUX.]

* * * * *

Alone, in the midst of ocean, the lighthouse of the Héaux of Bréhat

acquires, by its very isolation, a character of severe grandeur which

profoundly impresses the voyager. As Michelet says, it has the sublime

simplicity of a gigantic sea-plant. Enormous, immovable, silent, it

seems, in truth, a defiance flung by the genius of man in the teeth of

the spirit of the storm. Sometimes, says M. de Quatrefages, you would

say that, sensible of the outrage, the heavens and the sea league

together against the enemy who braves them by its impassability. The

impetuous winds of the north-west roar around the lantern, and hurl

torrents of rain and whirlwinds of hail and snow against its solid

crystal. Under the impulse of their irresistible breath gigantic

billows hurry up from the open sea, and sometimes reach as high as the

first gallery; but these fluent masses glide over the round polished

surface of the granite, which does not offer them any holding-place;

they even fling long streams of foam above the cupola, and dash down

with a groan on the rocks of Stallio-Bras or the shingly beach of the

Sillon. But without a quiver the lighthouse supports these terrible

attacks. Yet it bends towards them as if to render homage to the power

of its adversaries. The keepers have assured me that during a violent

tempest, the oil vessels, placed in one of the highest chambers, show

a variation in level of upwards of an inch, which supposes that the

summit of the tower describes an arc of more than a yard in extent.

For the rest, this very pliancy may be regarded as a pledge of

durability. At least, we find it in numerous monuments which have

braved for centuries the inclemencies of the season. The spire of

Strasburg Cathedral, for instance, curves, under the breath of the

winds, its long ogives, and its graceful little columns, and balances

its four-armed cross, elevated 440 feet above the soil.

The keepers of the lighthouse of the Héaux did not deceive M. de

Quatrefages. Observations made in other lighthouses, erected in the

open sea, confirm the statement they made to him. If these monuments

of human skill and industry are 130 feet in height and upwards, their

agitation becomes sufficiently perceptible to spill any liquids in

uncovered vessels, to shake the movable weights of the mechanism,

rattle against the sides of the descending tubes, and, in a word, to

suggest to visitors a vivid idea of the roll of a ship. Towers built

after this fashion are, in fact, reeds of stone which bend before the

wind; but, like the reeds, they raise their heads again as soon as the

hurricane has passed.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV.

THE GRAND BARGE D’OLONNE.

A.D. 1861.

We must not take leave of French oceanic lighthouses—that is, of

lighthouses built out at sea—without a brief reference to that of the

Grand Barge d’Olonne. Situated on a rock of shoal about 1.134 nautical

miles from the shore, in a situation surrounded by obstacles of every

kind, where the currents are excessively violent, and where the

tempests so disturb and madden the sea as to render nugatory all known

methods of construction, this lighthouse does the greatest honour to

its architects.

Its foundation is almost completely submerged, and during high tides

the waves leap to a height, it is said, of 100 feet.

The work was undertaken in 1857, and completed in 1861; but such were

the difficulties offered by the nature of the locality, that in these

five years only one thousand nine hundred and sixty hours could be

devoted to consecutive labour. Yet, so familiar are now the principles

on which edifices of this nature must be constructed, or—to speak more

justly—so confident in their own resources are the engineers who devise

and erect them, that even this comparatively brief period proved amply

sufficient.

The entire cost of the work was 450,000 francs, or £18,000. It was

executed under the direction of M. Reynaud, inspector-general, and M.

Forestier, engineer-in-chief. The tower is built of granite, the stones

of the face being mortised and tenoned together; its diameter at the

base is 39.37 feet, tapering with a curved outline to 21.23 feet at the

upper part. The door-sill is 13.12 feet above high-water mark of the

highest tides, and up to this level the tower, with the exception of a

cellar for coal and fresh water, is solid. Above the level the tower is

hollow, with an internal diameter of 11.48 feet, and is divided into

five stories by vaults of brick. The tower has a stout cornice and

parapet of granite. From the centre of its platform rises the turret,

6.56 feet high, and 8.2 feet in internal diameter, which supports

the lantern. The internal diameter of the catadioptric illuminating

apparatus is 3.28 feet, and gives a white light with red flashes every

three minutes.

The rocky peak on which the “Phare des Barges” stands, rises about one

and a half foot above low water of ordinary spring-tides; but at low

water of neap-tides is covered to the depth of about two feet and a

half.

It is situated to the westward of the port of Sables-d’Olonne.

[Illustration: LIGHTHOUSE OF THE ENFANT PERDU (GUIANA).]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER V.

THE LIGHTHOUSES OF WALDE, THE ENFANT PERDU, AND NEW CALEDONIA.

A.D. 1859—1863—1865.

We have spoken of the patriarch of the French lighthouses, the

venerable Tower of Cordova; it would be unfair to forget the youngest

of the family, that of New Caledonia. Independently of the services

which it renders in the region it illuminates, this edifice has, so to

speak, a physiognomy of its own: it is built of iron, and structures

of this material are sufficiently rare to justify us in devoting a few

lines to its description.

Iron is not so suitable as stone for the construction of lighthouses;

it is not so durable, it is more expensive in working and repairing,

and it affords a less efficacious protection against the thermometrical

variations of the atmosphere. Yet under certain circumstances our

engineers gladly have recourse to it. It has given rise to various

systems of construction. One of these, invented by Mr. Mitchell, has

been successfully applied in several instances in England; and has been

adopted in France for the lighthouse of Walde, kindled in 1859 to the

north of Calais, on a sandy shore stretching far out into the sea;

and for the lighthouse erected on the rock of the Enfant Perdu (coast

of Guiana). It consists of iron pillars protected in the lower part

by strong metal screws, strengthened by cross bars and St. Andrew’s

crosses, and surmounted, at a suitable distance above the sea-level, by

a platform which supports the rooms of the keepers. The whole erection

is crowned by the lantern.

Since we are speaking of this pharos of the Enfant Perdu, let us say

how difficult a task was its construction. “More than once,” writes

Vivian, the chief engineer of Cayenne, “it was necessary, in order to

fix a running hawser for landing purposes, that stout and courageous

men should resolutely dash into the sea, and swim with a rope to the

shore. The risk of being flung against the rocks was not the least they

ran, for, as at the bar of the Senegal, sharks abound in these regions.

The ebb and flow render navigation very difficult; more than one of the

men were wounded, and we may say that all sported with their lives.”

Yet here, as elsewhere, resolution, industry, and perseverance have

triumphed over every obstacle.

The framework of the pharos at Port de France, New Caledonia, like that

of the Roches-Douvres, is made up of sixteen uprights, each composed of

fourteen pannels. Each pannel is formed of T irons, consolidated and

riveted together in such a manner as to be perfectly firm—an object

fully attained, for the oscillations experienced in lighthouses of

stone are in this scarcely discernible. These pannels are pinned one

upon another, while cross bars applied both within and without, and

likewise pinned, keep the uprights in their position. Finally, on these

latter cross bars, and on the inner sides of the uprights, rest the

plates of sheet iron constituting the walls, or sides, whose joints are

covered by iron platbands, fixed by bolts.

* * * * *

The height of the New Caledonia lighthouse is 164 feet, or 170

feet if we measure from the base of the tower to the point of the

lightning-conductor. Its apparatus is of the first class, lenticular,

with a fixed white light, whose range is twenty-two miles. The spot

on which it is raised is an island of sand, such as the coral animals

form in so great and dangerous a number in the southern seas, and is

situated to the south-west of Noumea.

[Illustration: LIGHTHOUSE AT NEW CALEDONIA.]

Constructed at Paris, and transported in pieces to the Antipodes, the

pharos of New Caledonia was inaugurated on the 15th of November 1865,

with all the ceremonial appropriate to so important an event. After the

benediction of the monument by the priests of Noumea, M. the Commandant

Guillain pronounced a discourse, from which we extract the following

passage:—

“If, transporting ourselves in thought into the different regions of

the civilized world, we examine the events transpiring there, the most

magnificent panorama is unrobed before our eyes. Everywhere,—and this

will be the glory of our epoch,—everywhere, great works are being

executed to bring the peoples together, to multiply their relations, to

prepare, in a word, that universal brotherhood, destined and reserved

by Providence for future generations.“

The savages, attracted by the brilliancy of the festival, mingled with

the French soldiers, seamen, and colonists. Did they understand this

wise and noble speech? We fear not. But Time marches onward for them as

for us, and Time, which has already destroyed their horrible custom of

cannibalism, will one day explain its full meaning to them. Nor is this

glorious epoch far remote; wherever beams the lighthouse-lamps, the

sails of rich argosies whiten the horizon, wafted from sea to sea by

the powerful impulses of civilization!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

BOOK V.

_THE AUXILIARIES OF LIGHTHOUSES._

CHAPTER I.

FLOATING LIGHTS: LIGHTSHIPS.

Lighthouses form the _first_ line of the coast defences which man

raises for his protection against the fury of the ocean. But there are

many parts of the coasts of every maritime country which are unsuitable

for their construction, whether they be built of stone or iron, and

which, nevertheless, stand greatly in need of illumination. In England,

especially, these points are numerous. Among others, we may refer to

the Goodwin Sands—that fatal tract off the shore of Kent which has been

the destruction of so many “tall ships” and “adventurous mariners,”

whose name has for centuries been associated with the memory of the

most deplorable disasters. On the entire coast of England there is

probably no other locality so fatally connected with dismal stories of

human suffering, and yet it was long impossible to warn the sailor

from it by any certain agency. Lighthouses could not be stationed on

its shifting sands; and it seemed as if this one wild waste must of

necessity be abandoned to the pitiless winds and not more compassionate

seas. However, towards the close of the last century, the idea occurred

to one Robert Hamblin of substituting floating lights for fixed

lights—a light_ship_ for a light_house_.

* * * * *

Robert Hamblin was an experienced and reputable barber of Lynn, who had

married the daughter of a shipowner of that busy little seaport, and in

due time had become master of a vessel. He was engaged in the coasting

trade—in carrying coal from Newcastle to other ports—and was thus well

enabled to judge of the inadequate manner in which the eastern coast

was lighted. Accident, after a time, introduced him to a man whose

brain was full of grand projects, but who was cruelly hampered by

poverty—David Avery; and the two, combining their resources—the one

finding the money, the other the intellect—established at the Nore a

floating light on board a ship, and assumed a right of levying tolls

for the maintenance of this new pharos (A.D. 1732).

It was impossible that the Trinity House could regard this assumption

as other than an infraction of their legal privileges, though they

were compelled to own that the lightship was successful, and that it

proved of great assistance in the navigation of the intricate estuary

of the Thames. Encouraged by the triumphant issue of his experiment,

Avery boldly announced his design of placing a similar vessel among

the waters of the Scilly Islands. The corporation of the Trinity

House, in their capacity of protectors of British commerce, then laid

a complaint before the Lords of the Admiralty; who, however, were

either unwilling or unable to act. They next addressed themselves to

the Crown, representing that it was illegal for any private individual

to levy a tax on the mercantile marine; and acted with so much energy

as to obtain a royal proclamation prohibiting the light at the Nore.

Avery, whose schemes of acquiring almost boundless wealth were thus

rudely broken up, appeared in person before the Board, and proposed to

treat with them in reference to the Nore light. He asserted that he had

expended a sum of £2000; and his offer was, that all right and title to

the floating ship should remain for ever in the hands of the Trinity

House, but that the tolls should be levied by him and his heirs for a

period of sixty-one years, on payment of a yearly sum of £100. These

terms were accepted.[56]

[56] The second light-vessel established off the British coast was the

_Dudgeon_ (Lincolnshire), in 1736.

Such, briefly told, was the origin of Lightships.

The lightship, be it understood, is not employed only to indicate the

position of a sand-bank, but as a beacon against perfidious currents,

submarine whirlpools, or reefs which are hidden at certain hours by the

high tide. We borrow from the lively pages of M. Esquiros a sketch of

this most useful vessel:—

“When first seen, and especially if seen from a distance, a lightship

closely resembles during the day an ordinary barque. But if examined

from a nearer point of view, a very great difference between the two is

readily discernible. The lightship floats, but it does not move; its

short stout masts are without sails, and surmounted by large balls.

Other ships represent motion; this, immobility. We ask of vessels,

as a rule, that they shall obey the wind and the wave; we ask of the

lightship that it shall resist them. What, indeed, would happen if

it drifted before the gale? Like a meteor, the wandering light would

deceive the pilot, instead of warning him. A ship which does not

navigate—a fixed and fettered ship;—such is the ideal which the builder

of the light-vessel keeps ever before his mind; and this ideal has

naturally troubled the imagination of naval architects in more than one

direction.

The form of the lightship varies according to its locality: in Ireland

the hull is more elongated than in England; but in all cases the object

to be attained is the same—resistance to the force of the winds and

waves. It is desired that in the most violent tides, in the midst

of the angriest billows, and in situations the most exposed to the

influence of the currents, it shall drag as little as possible upon its

anchor. That it may at all times and in all conditions preserve the

same maritime position, it is securely moored. Like a galley-slave,

riveted to an iron chain, it can move neither to the right nor

to the left. The length of its cable is, of course, regulated by

circumstances: at the Seven Stones, where it rides in 240 feet deep of

water, it measures upwards of a third of a mile in length. Some years

ago it was found that the addition of certain ingenious shackles (so

to speak) controlled its movements; and by various improvements in its

construction, the result has been obtained that, slave though it be,

it shall weigh as little as possible on its mooring-chains. Usually,

the moorings consist of a chain lying along the sea-bed for 1260 feet,

with an anchor of 32 cwt., in the shape of a mushroom at either end,

and a swivel in the centre, to which is attached a veering cable of 630

feet of chain.

[Illustration: THE LIGHTSHIP.]

Few instances are on record of a lightship having broken loose from

its moorings, and none of its having suffered shipwreck. Each vessel

carries, for emergencies, two bower anchors of 20 cwt. and 15 cwt.;

and cables respectively 1260 and 900 feet long. Nor is it known that

the crew have, on any occasion, or whatever the fury of the tempest,

voluntarily changed their position. If, however, the ship should be

driven from its place by the irresistible force of the elements, so

that its light may become a source of danger to the mariner, they hoist

a red signal and fire a gun, and generally it is soon restored to its

normal situation. The peril of drifting, and the presence of mind

which the necessary manœuvres require in such an event, are evidences,

nevertheless, of the courage and resolution of the men who live, day

and night, exposed to the caprice of the seas. As it is necessary to

prepare for every accident, a spare vessel is always held in readiness

at the headquarters of each district; owing to the telegraphic network

which now surrounds our shores, the slightest mishap is soon made known

to the authorities; and often before sunset the reserve ship, towed by

a powerful steam-tug, occupies the place of the vessel which the storm

has driven from its moorings. The lightships of the Trinity House are

painted _red_; those of Ireland, _black_. Experiment has shown that

red and black are the two colours which most vividly contrast with

the prevailing hue of the sea. The name of the vessel is inscribed in

large letters on its sides. A flag, bearing a cross quartered with four

ships, waves at the stern. These are the arms of the Trinity House.

Our British and Irish lightships numbered fifty-nine in 1870. Each,

like the lighthouse on shore, is distinguished by its own peculiar

aspect—by certain differences which assist the navigator in recognizing

it, and, consequently, in recognizing the particular danger he is

called upon to avoid. Some have one light, some two lights, some three

lights. Of these lights many are fixed, many revolving, many coloured.

The building and equipment of one of these vessels[57] will cost from

£2000 to £3000. Its maintenance, including the cost of oil, the wages

and provisions of the men, amounts to about £1200 per annum.

[57] The average length is 80 to 90 feet, and the burden from 160 to

180 tons. The _Calshot_, between Southampton Water and the mouth of the

Medina (Isle of Wight), is only 100 tons.

The United States stand next to Great Britain in the number of

lightships which they support in the interests of commercial

enterprise. At one time, however, their organization was very

indifferent; but of later years the system followed in England has been

adopted with a few unimportant modifications. The American ships are

painted in longitudinal stripes of varied colours. In very bad weather

they frequently quit their posts, and return into harbour.

France has fewer lightships than either Great Britain or America, and

only _five_ whose burthen exceeds seventy tons.

* * * * *

Let us now say a few words in reference to the resolute crews who man

these vessels.

The crew of an English lightship consists of a master, a mate, and nine

men. Three out of the nine are intrusted with the service of the lamps;

the six others, who always include among them a good carpenter, attend

to the order and cleanliness of the vessel. It must be remembered,

however, that the nine men are never all on board together; one-third

are always enjoying an interval of rest on shore. Experience has

proved that a perpetual sojourn on board a ship of this kind is too

much for the moral and physical forces of human nature. The crushing

monotony of the same scenes, the eternal spectacle of foam-crested

waters rolling wherever the eye is turned, the ceaseless noise of the

winds, the everlasting murmur of the ocean—swelling at times into so

terrible a roar that it renders inaudible the human voice—could not

fail to exercise a depressing influence on the mind. But even allowing

for the occasional vacation spent upon land, the life is so uniform

and unexciting that it is wonderful any man can be found to endure

it; and the crews of our lightships may assuredly be ranked among the

curiosities of civilization.

To mitigate the rigours of so strange a profession, the Trinity Board

provides that each man shall pass one month on shore for every two

months he spends on board; while the captain and the mate change places

every month. But grim old Neptune does not always permit this system of

reliefs to be regularly carried out. It often happens in winter that

the storm and the tide are opposed to every kind of disembarkation;

and between the lightship and the Scilly Islands, for instance, weeks

elapse before the communication can be re-established. The men ashore

are occupied in cleaning cables, painting buoys, filling the oil tins,

and similar duties. We know not whether what was acknowledged by an

old lightship “hand” is true of all; that all the time he was on land,

he dreamed of the sea; all the time he was on board the lightship, he

dreamed of the land.

The visitor of an English lightship cannot fail to be struck with

its admirable condition, and with the fine appearance of its crew.

Sun-tanned and weather-beaten, they are models of English sailors:

frank, self-reliant, unassuming, obedient, nimble, vigorous, and

resolute. They seem well-contented with their lot, and if they complain

at all, it is of the quantity and quality of their provisions. The

ration of bread (seven pounds a week) is not quite sufficient for

hearty men, and I confess, from my own experience, that the sharp air

to which they are exposed is well adapted to whet one’s appetite. When

they are at sea, their food is supplied by the Trinity House; when on

shore, they receive instead one shilling and threepence a day. Their

wages are fifty-five shillings per month; the master receives £80 per

annum.

Two men at a time are charged with the care of the lamps, the third

being on shore; one of these two performs for a month the functions of

a cook. Formerly, if we may believe public rumour, the lightship crews,

isolated by continual tempests which rendered the sea impracticable,

have been reduced to the extremest necessities, have even perished

of hunger. To prevent the recurrence of such calamities, a steamboat

or a good stout sailing-vessel regularly visits the lightship once a

month. In the worst weather the communication is never interrupted for

a longer period than six weeks, and the stock of provisions is always

sufficient to last the crew for even a longer time.

The lanterns in which the lamps are fixed are hung round the mast;

during the day they are lowered on deck that they may be cleaned, and

supplied afresh with oil; at night, this crown of lights is raised

to its conspicuous position by means of a pulley. The ship is also

provided with some small cannon and a gong. But, unfortunately, these

signals are not always comprehended by foreign ships.

The crew of the Scilly lightship, says Esquiros, have witnessed but

two shipwrecks; in the one instance, they saved a single life; in

the other, all the passengers, with the exception of the wife of a

missionary. It is not, however, a part of their duty to go to the

rescue of vessels in danger; and if the authorities admire, for obvious

reasons they do not encourage such acts of heroism. Their sole and

all-absorbing duty is to take care of the light. The discipline to

which they are subjected is severe, and no man may quit his post under

any pretence whatever. A sailor, in 1854, having been informed of his

wife’s death, deserted the lightship, and repaired to London to attend

her funeral. He was reprimanded, and it was only in consideration of

the motive which had induced his absence that the authorities refrained

from discharging him. The lightship of the Seven Stones, off the

Scilly Islands, is the most exposed of all the vessels on the British

coast;[58] its captain, however, considers that it rides much more

easily on its anchors in a sea where waves are long and regular, than

those ships which are moored in seas with short and contrary waves. He

will tell you that his gallant barque is always ready for the tempest.

And yet its deck is sometimes washed by the waves, and when the sea

strikes against its broadside, the roar is like the discharge of a

piece of artillery.

[58] Others which occupy dangerous positions are, the Leman, the Ower,

the Newarp, the Sunk, and the Kentish Knock.

* * * * *

On board every lightship the life of the crew is much the same. On

Sunday, at dawn, the lantern is lowered, and the lamp-lighter cleans

and prepares his lamps for the next night’s work. At eight o’clock

everybody must be on the alert; the hammocks are hung up, and breakfast

is served. Afterwards, the men wash and put on their uniform, of which

they are very proud, for on its buttons figure the arms of the Trinity

House. At half-past ten they assemble in the cabin, and the captain or

mate performs divine service. At sunset the lighted lantern is hoisted

up—the real standard of the vessel—and the crew again meet together

for prayer and the reading of the Scriptures. With the exception of the

morning and evening services, the week-days close resemble the Sundays.

Wednesday and Friday are the chief cleaning days, and the ship then

shines with cleanliness. To watch over, and maintain in due order,

the lighting apparatus; to keep watch on deck; to note seven times in

every twenty-four hours the conditions of the wind and atmosphere;

to attend to the condition of the mooring-chains;—such is the almost

invariable circle of their occupations. Their leisure time, which is

not inconsiderable, they employ in reading. A library is always kept

on board, and the books are circulated from hand to hand, and ship to

ship. Under such circumstances how miserable would be the condition of

a man who could neither read nor write! Yet such is sometimes the case

with a few on first entering the service; but whether it be the force

of example, or the necessity of overcoming the oppressive ennui of idle

hours, it generally happens that, with the assistance of the captain

or mate, they more or less repair this absolute want of education.

One of the best officers of the company is a man who taught himself

reading and writing in order that he might obtain an engagement on

board a lightship. The seamen also devote their leisure to all kinds

of ingenious manual work, and some of them set to work as shoemakers,

joiners, tailors, wood-carvers, and the like.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER II.

LANDMARKS, BEACONS, AND BUOYS.

To complete our account of the defences of our coast, we must refer

to works of less pretension than lighthouses and lightships, and of

less utility, though still of very considerable importance. They

present themselves under various forms, and they have different names,

according to their respective positions and objects.[59]

[59] Founded on a chapter in M. Rénard’s “Les Phares;” and an article

in _Chambers’s Journal_, February 1870.

Let us first direct our attention to landmarks and beacons; by which,

in nautical language, we mean every terrestrial object that assists

the seaman in calculating his data, and determining his course. The

spires of churches, the towers of castles, windmills, tall isolated

trees, or rocks of a characteristic configuration, are useful for this

purpose. Solitary peaks, like that of Teneriffe—volcanoes surmounted by

a canopy of smoke—are gigantic landmarks which assist the navigator in

rectifying his geographical position.

Among the very numerous class of landmarks we meet with a few as

celebrated as, or even more celebrated than, the majority of our

lighthouses. Such are the Pillars of Hercules—anciently designated

the Columns of Saturn or of Briareus—and Pompey’s Pillar, near

Alexandria. One thing is wanting, however, to the glory of the Pillars

of Hercules—that they should have existed. Hesychius, nevertheless,

asserts that there were three or four, while, according to Edrisi, six

were placed on the sea-coast; the easternmost at Cadiz, in Andalusia;

the others in the islands of the Shadowy Seas, as a warning to

navigators not to advance beyond them. But Strabo, when speaking of

the foundation of Cadiz by the Tyrians, puts forward some doubts as to

the accuracy of this statement, and his doubts seem not to have been

ill-founded. We believe with him that these famous Pillars of Hercules

existed only in the imagination of the writers of antiquity, who were

frequently as enthusiastic in belief of fable as of truth.

The best known sites of the pillars, whether they were real or

fabulous, were at Calpe, on the European shore of the Straits of

Gibraltar, and at Abyla, on the African. But _what_ the pillars were,

none of the ancient authorities are agreed. According to Strabo, some

believed them to be rocky headlands, others, islands; the former rising

up from the land, the latter starting out of the sea, like gigantic

columns. Others, again, understanding the word στῆλαι literally, looked

for artificial mounds, or columns, or statues, which Hercules himself

had erected to indicate the limit of his conquests, or the Phœnician

navigators had dedicated to their tutelary deity, to record the

extent of their discoveries.[60] Strabo informs us that this literal

interpretation was held by the Iberians and Libyans, who denied that

there existed at the Straits anything resembling columns, but pointed

out, as the Pillars of Hercules, the bronze columns in the temple of

the god at Gades, on which the expenses of building the temple were

inscribed. He adds that this opinion was held by Poseidonius, in

opposition to the Greeks in general, who considered the pillars to mean

_promontories_.

[60] See Article “Herculis Columnæ,” in Smith’s “Dictionary of

Geography,” i. 1054.

* * * * *

A monument not less famous, and whose existence cannot be doubted,

inasmuch as it still answers the purpose of a landmark, is the

so-called Pompey’s Pillar, at Alexandria. This structure is the

first object to attract the eye when you approach the classic shores

of Egypt; from afar it dominates over the town, the minarets, the

obelisks, and the lighthouse.

Pompey’s Pillar—the _Amood é sowari_ of the Arabs—occupies the summit

of a dreary, solitary mound, which overlooks the Lake Mareotis and

the modern city of Alexandria. It may be described as a handsome and

stately Corinthian column; the shaft, a monolith of red granite, 73

feet in height; the total height, including capital and base, 98 feet

9 inches; the circumference, 29 feet 8 inches. Its history is involved

in considerable obscurity. The Arab chronicler, Abdallatif, represents

it to be the sole remaining pillar of the four hundred which once

adorned and enclosed the celebrated Serapeion, or Temple of Serapis;

the Portico, where Aristotle expounded his philosophical theories; the

Academy, which Alexander erected when he founded the city, and where

the great library was placed—the glory of Alexandria—erroneously

said to have been destroyed by order of the Caliph Omar.

[Illustration: COLUMN AT ALEXANDRIA (_Known as Pompey’s Pillar_).]

The Serapeion was razed to the ground at the instigation of a furious

zealot, the patriarch Theophilus. Its columns were rent and shattered,

and finally piled up, as a break-water, on the sea-shore—all save the

one stately pillar—the loftiest of the four hundred—the “pillar of

the colonnades,” as the Arabs emphatically termed it—which is still

the cynosure of European pilgrims. This was re-erected by Publius or

Pompius, prefect of Egypt, and a new capital and base were provided

for it; the whole being dedicated, as an inscription on its pedestal

records, in honour of the Emperor Diocletian, “the Invincible,” and in

commemoration of the deliverance of Alexandria from the insurgent bonds

of the pretender Achilleus (A.D. 297).

The summit may either have been crowned with a statue, or have simply

assisted in sustaining the cupola of the Serapeion.

Pompey’s Pillar—as, in defiance of history, men still continue to call

it—stands to-day in a wild and dreary waste—widely different from the

scene that surrounded it when, of old, the Nile swarmed with gilded

barges, and the waters of the Mediterranean were ploughed by countless

argosies, and the flickering glare of the pharos was the guiding star

of the commerce of the world. You reach it, as Miss Martineau tells

us, through the dreariest of cemeteries, where all is of one dust

colour, even to the aloe which is fixed upon every grave. From the

base, the view is curious to novices. Groups of Arabs are at work in

the crumbling, whitish, hot soil, with files of soldiers keeping watch

over them. To the south-east you obtain a fine view of Lake Mareotis,

whose slender line of shore seems liable to be broken through by the

first ripple of its waters. The space between it and the sea is one

expanse of desolation. A strip of vegetation—some marsh, some field,

and some grove—looks well near the lake; and so do a little settlement

on the canal, and a lateen sail gliding among the trees.

* * * * *

As commerce increased, and flowed into fresh channels, men very

naturally multiplied on every coast the landmarks which played the

same useful part by day as did the pharoses by night. If we may

believe Coulier, we owe to the Etruscans the invention of that system

of beacons which, neglected for many centuries, has been resuscitated

of late years, and developed according to fixed principles. Where

natural landmarks are non-existent, we now-a-days rear small but

durable constructions of timber or masonry, at suitable points of the

shore, painting them of a brown colour if they stand defined against

the sky, as on the summit of a lofty hill, or of a white colour, if

they are projected on the land. When it is desirable to indicate the

position of a submarine reef, on whose hidden point a good many ships

might otherwise go down, a _buoy_ is placed there—that is, a floating

frame-work of iron or wood, with or without a bell, and painted of

various colours. Some of these buoys, as in the channel of a river

or the water-way of a harbour, are hollow cones of iron, kept in

their positions by stout cables and a heavy anchor. Others, of larger

dimensions, resemble a kind of cage; not a few are built up of masonry,

where the water is shallow, like small turrets; and these are

provided with chains and ladders for the convenience of shipwrecked

seamen. The floating buoys are generally furnished with great bells,

which are swung to and fro with a solemn and overpowering peal, by the

oscillations of the waves. “Beware! beware!” they seem to cry; but,

alas! their warning sounds are often heard too late, and the “tall

ship,” swept onward by the demon of the storm, frequently clashes

against the very buoy that gave warning of the danger.

[Illustration: A FLOATING BEACON OR BUOY.]

As a general rule, the buoys in a river channel are painted red,

striped with white, if the homeward-bound vessel is to leave them on

the right; and black, when she has to pass them on the left. Others are

painted with horizontal stripes of red and black, or in squares and

diamonds, according to the various purposes they are intended to serve.

Obstacles, such as wrecks, are marked by green buoys.

A buoy, recently invented by Mr. Hubert, and adopted by the Trinity

Board, is so constructed, with regard to the centre of flotation,

and the point where the mooring-chain is attached, that it will keep

upright in almost any weather.

Another buoy, invented by Messrs. Brown and Lenox, is ingeniously

contrived to render its _bell_ audible even when the buoy itself is

not visible; the stream of water passing through the lower part of the

framework keeps in motion an undershot water-wheel, which incessantly

rings the bell.

The average size of the buoys now in use is about eight feet, but many

are of larger dimensions; and some, like North-east Spit Buoy, at the

east end of Margate Sand, are twenty feet. Various plans for lighting

them have been suggested, but with no very successful result. The only

felicitous instance is that of the Arnish Beacon on the north coast of

Scotland; it consists of a cone of cast-iron plates, surmounted with a

lantern containing a glass prism. The prism is illuminated by a light

directed upon it from Stornaway Lighthouse; and so perfect is the

deception that the fishermen long refused to believe there was not a

real light on the beacon.

[Illustration: THE ARNISH BEACON.]

Nearly a thousand buoys are posted about the coast of England and in

the channels of her principal rivers. Scotland and Ireland have about

two hundred each. These bear their own particular denominations,

forming a very diversified and somewhat amusing vocabulary. We find

amongst them an “Eagle,” a “Gull,” a “Swallow,” a “Horse,” a “Mussel,”

a “Firefly;” also a “Cutler,” a “Constable,” a “Columbine,” and

a “Fairy;” a “Royal Sovereign,” a “Protector;” and a “Tongue,” an

“Elbow,” and a “Longnose.”

The position of every buoy on the British coast is verified once a

quarter; and every half-year—that is, in March and September—all buoys,

except the largest, are “shifted,” being replaced by clean ones. After

a certain period of immersion they lose their brilliancy of colour,

and become encrusted with salt, as well as with organic matter.

“Buoy-shifting,” says a recent writer, “is a duty which calls forth all

the skill and energy of the officers and men comprising the crews of

the Trinity House vessels, for the buoys are mostly placed to indicate

the position of dangerous shoals, and not unfrequently the change is

effected under very inauspicious circumstances. The buoys brought in

are carefully examined, and if fit for further use, repainted and

repaired.”

The cost of a buoy varies, according to its size, from twenty-five to

two hundred and fifty pounds.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

BOOK VI.

_LIFE IN THE LIGHTHOUSE._

CHAPTER I.

THE LIGHTHOUSE-KEEPERS.

The life of a lighthouse-keeper is not without a certain monotony; but

it must be greatly cheered by the reflection that it is devoted to a

high and holy service. There is about it a certain heroic simplicity—it

is so completely separated from the commonplace aims and concerns of

the work-day world; and it is characterized, moreover, by an austere

regularity which reminds one of the existence formerly led in grotto

and cavern by saint and hermit, though its end is much more useful, and

it is in itself of far greater value to mankind.

The first article of the instructions which every lighthouse-keeper is

bound to obey—and to obey as implicitly as a soldier obeys the articles

of war—runs thus:—

“You are to light the lamps every evening at sun-setting, and keep

them constantly burning, bright and clear, till sun-rising.”

This is the primary condition of a lighthouse-keeper’s duty: for this

he lives, for this he toils, for this he watches—that the helpful flame

which has been the salvation of so many lives may steadily glow and

brightly burn from sunset until sunrise.

“Whatever else happens,” remarks a lively writer,[61] “he is to do

this. He may be isolated through the long night-watches, twenty miles

from land, fifty or a hundred feet above the level of the sea, with the

winds and waves howling round him, and the sea-birds dashing themselves

to death against the gleaming lantern, like giant moths against a

candle; or it may be a calm, voluptuous, moonlight night, the soft

air laden with the perfumes of the Highland heather or the Cornish

gorse, tempting him to keep his watch outside the lantern, in the open

gallery, instead of in the watch-room chair within; the Channel may

be full of stately ships, each guided by his light; or the horizon

may be bare of all signs of life, except, remote and far beneath him,

the lantern of some fishing-boat at sea: but whatever may be going on

outside, there is within for him the duty, simple and easy, by virtue

of his moral method and orderly training, ‘to light the lamps every

evening at sun-setting, and keep them constantly burning, bright and

clear, till sun-rising.’”

[61] “Cornhill Magazine,” vol. i., pp. 224, 225.

That this great article of the lighthouse-keeper’s faith may be the

more easily carried out, he is subjected, both when on probation

and afterwards, to a strict discipline, and is required to gain a

thorough acquaintance with all the materials he has to handle—lamps,

oil, wicks, lighting apparatus, and revolving machinery. Before being

admitted into the service, he is carefully examined as to his physical

qualities by keen medical eyes; and as to his moral qualities, the

best testimonials are necessary from persons in whose competency and

honesty of judgment implicit confidence can be placed. He receives

liberal wages, and, when past work, a fair pension; and a deduction

from his pay is regularly applied to the discharge of a premium on his

life insurance. He is enjoined to “the constant habit of cleanliness

and good order in his own person, and to the invariable exercise of

temperance and morality in his habits and proceedings; so that, by his

example, he may enforce, as far as lies in his power, the observance of

the same laudable conduct by his wife and family.” The utmost vigilance

is expected of him when it is his turn to attend to the lantern. “He

whose watch is about to end is to trim the lamps, and leave them

burning in perfect order, before he quits the lantern and calls the

succeeding watch; and he who has the watch at sunrise, when he has

extinguished the lamps, is to commence all necessary preparations for

the exhibition of the light at the ensuing sunset.” No bed, sofa, or

other article on which to recline, is permitted, either in the lantern

or in the apartment under the lantern known as the watch-room.

From these requirements we may infer what kind of life is led by the

lighthouse-keeper, and what are its leading requisites: temperance,

cleanliness, honesty, conscientiousness, zeal, watchfulness. At

different stations it varies considerably in its lighter occupations.

In the rock lighthouse—such as the Eddystone—the keeper’s chief

amusements are necessarily reading and fishing: the only capability

of exercise is within the circle of the outer gallery, or on the

belt of rock surrounding the lighthouse base; and the sole incidents

which break up the uniformity of his daily life are the inspections

of the committee, the visits of the district superintendent, or

the monthly relief which takes the men back to shore. In the shore

lighthouse—as at Harwich or the Forelands—there is a plot of ground to

cultivate, frequent intercourse with visitors from the neighbouring

watering-places, and the wider range of occupation and entertainment

which necessarily can be enjoyed upon _terra firma_.

As a rule, the public take but little interest in the economy of our

lighthouses; and yet there is something singularly romantic in the idea

of the lone tower encircled by boiling waters, with its warning light

flashing through the deep night shadows, and the heroic men who hour

after hour watch with anxious care lest its radiance should be obscured

or extinguished.

“And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,

Through the deep purple of the twilight air,

Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light

With strange, unearthly splendour in its glare!

“Not one alone: from each projecting cape

And perilous reef along the ocean’s verge,

Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape,

Holding its lantern o’er the restless surge.

“Like the great giant Christopher it stands

Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave;

Wading far out among the rocks and sands,

The night-o’ertaken mariner to save.

“And the great ships sail outward and return,

Bending and bowing o’er the billowy swells;

And ever joyful, as they see it burn,

They wave their silent welcomes and farewells.

“They come forth from the darkness, and their sails

Gleam for a moment only in the blaze;

And eager faces, as the light unveils,

Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze.

“The mariner remembers when a child,

On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink;

And when, returning from adventures wild,

He saw it rise again o’er ocean’s brink.

“Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same

Year after year, through all the silent night,

Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame,

Shines on that inextinguishable light!

“‘Sail on!’ it says, ‘sail on, ye stately ships!

And with your floating bridge the ocean span;

Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse,

Be yours to bring man nearer unto man!’”[62]

[62] Longfellow.

As a proof of the romance that formerly invested lighthouse life, we

may lay before the reader one or two “true stories.”

Off the coast of Northumberland, and outside, so to speak, of the

Farne Islands, lies the Longstone—a rock about four feet above high

water-mark, and swept by every gale with fierce drifts of spray and

foam. Here, about six miles from the shore, is planted a lighthouse,

which has been found of great use to the coasting vessels navigating

these dangerous waters. Two-and-thirty years ago its keeper was named

Darling. He had a daughter, Grace—a quiet, modest, well-behaved girl,

whose name, through one noble action, will for ever be honoured among

women. On a dark night in September 1838 the _Forfarshire_, a Hull

steamer, struck on a hidden reef called the Harcars, in the vicinity

of the lighthouse. She had on board sixty-three persons, including

passengers and crew. Their signals of distress were observed from the

lighthouse. It was impossible for Darling, the keeper, to pull off in

his boat alone; no single arm could have impelled it through the raging

sea that then prevailed. With admirable courage, Grace Darling resolved

to assist him on his noble errand. She sprang into the skiff, and over

the bounding billows father and daughter gallantly made their way.

Their lives hung upon a thread; but the weak girl never bated a jot of

heart or hope, and rowed with all the vigour which a noble enthusiasm

is apt to inspire. They reached the ship, and took off nine persons,

with whom they contrived to regain the lighthouse. Nine more escaped in

one of the steamer’s boats: all the rest perished.

Grace Darling did not live many years after the event which made her

famous. She was interred in the old chapel on Holy Island, and an

epitaph to her memory composed by the poet Wordsworth:—

“The maiden gentle, yet at duty’s call

Firm and unflinching, as the lighthouse reared

On the island-rock, her lonely dwelling-place;

Or like the invisible rock itself, that braves,

Age after age, the hostile elements,

As when it guarded holy Cuthbert’s cell.”

Smeaton speaks of a shoemaker who entered the Eddystone Lighthouse

because he longed for a solitary life: he found himself less a prisoner

on his wave-beaten rock than in his close and confined workshop. When

some of his friends expressed their astonishment at his choice—“Each to

his taste,” said he; “I have always been partial to independence.”

Perhaps it was the same individual who, after having served at the

Eddystone upwards of fourteen years, conceived so strong an attachment

to his prison that for two consecutive years he gave up his turn of

relief. He would fain have continued the same course of life for a

third year, but so much pressure was brought to bear upon him that he

consented to avail himself of the usual privilege. All the years he had

spent in the lighthouse he had been distinguished for his quiet and

orderly behaviour; on land he found himself “out of his element,” and

drank until he was completely intoxicated. In this condition he was

carried back to the Eddystone, where, after languishing for a few days,

he expired.

Some men have gone mad, or nearly so, by dint of contemplating the same

scenes and the same external impressions. About a mile and a quarter

from the Land’s End, on a group of granite islets washed by the sea,

stands the _Longships Lighthouse_, constructed in 1793. The particular

rock on which it is built—the Carn-Bras—rises about forty-five

feet above the level of low water. In winter both the rock and the

building—as is the case at the Eddystone—will sometimes be covered for

a few seconds by the leaping waters, which have even been known to

surmount the lantern, and, on one occasion at least, to break through

its crystal walls and extinguish the lamps.

One day, in 1862, two black flags floated from the summit of the tower.

They were evidently intended as a signal of distress. What, then, had

happened?

[Illustration: EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE IN A STORM.]

Of the three men who inhabited the lighthouse, the one whose turn it

was to keep watch had thrust a knife into his breast. His companions

attempted to stanch the blood by plugging up the wound with bits of

tow. Three days passed by before the people on shore could reach

the lighthouse; and the sea was then so rude and disembarkation

so dangerous that the wounded man had to be lowered into the boat,

suspended from a kind of impromptu crane. When he was conveyed ashore

he received every attention which his condition demanded; but he lived

only a few days. The jury, acting upon the evidence of his companions,

declared that he had committed suicide under an attack of temporary

insanity. Perhaps it is not astonishing that persons of a susceptible

or excitable temperament should, under the influence of ever-murmuring

seas and ever-blowing winds, and while living in a state of almost

continual solitude and comparative monotony, feel the vertigo of the

abyss ascend to their brain, so that the control of reason is loosened,

and the mind yields to the first impulse which passes over it.

* * * * *

Let us now take a glance at lighthouse life from a French point of view.

Sagacious regulations and constant inspection have banished the

dramatic and the surprising from the French as well as from the English

lighthouse. Everything has been reduced to a system, and the keepers

are under a discipline scarcely less rigid than that of soldiers.

In France, indeed, veteran soldiers or tried seamen are generally

selected to fill up any vacancies that may occur in the lighthouse

administration. This is divided into two classes: the inspectors, who

receive a thousand francs yearly (about £40), and are intrusted with

the superintendence of several lighthouses; and the keepers, who are

divided into six classes, and whose annual wages vary from 475 to 850

francs (say £18 to £34). Extra payment is awarded to those who serve

in the sea lighthouses. Their number is never less than three in a

lighthouse of the first class, or two in those of the second and third

class lighthouses.

* * * * *

The “code,” so to speak, from which we borrow these details is nearly

the same among all maritime nations. It indicates to the keepers their

duties, and prescribes to them the nature of their daily work. As

for their mode of life, it is much the same everywhere, only more or

less agreeable according to the stations. In France the lighthouses

served by a single keeper are intrusted to married men, who live in

the establishment with their family. Not only does such an arrangement

ameliorate their lot, but it also gives the assurance that in case of

need they will immediately be replaced in attendance on the lamp—a task

so easy that it can be discharged by a woman or even by a child. The

habitation allotted to them consists of one or two apartments, with

a chimney, an outhouse, and sometimes a cellar. A green and a small

garden are invariably attached. In some lighthouses the keeper’s house

is so placed with reference to the tower that the lamp is visible from

one of the windows; but in most the house is annexed to the tower, in

such a manner that if the keeper is compelled to rise and attend to the

lamp, at least he is not exposed, immediately after leaving his couch,

to the rigour, it may be, of a winter night.

* * * * *

In lenticular lights of the first, second, and third class, whose

flame requires surveillance throughout the night, several keepers are

needed, who take their watch in turn. Formerly the keepers and their

families lodged together. But, unfortunately, those dissensions which

seem inevitable when a colony is numerous, and not amenable to a strict

discipline, were found to break out at very short intervals, and in an

exceedingly disagreeable manner. The authorities, therefore, resolved

only to admit their own servants into the interior of the lighthouses,

leaving to them, if married, the care of securing suitable lodgings for

their wives and children. To each keeper a room was allotted, and the

kitchen was common to all.

The result they had in view was thus obtained. But it was soon

perceived that to separate the keepers from their families was to

impose a heavy tax upon men whose pay was not too liberal; that to

deprive them of the sweet domestic joys which are the legitimate reward

of the cares and anxieties of paternity, was to increase the gloominess

of their isolation, by rendering it more complete; and, finally, to

expose them to the strong temptation of absenting themselves from

the lighthouse at the hours their presence was most necessary. These

inconveniences have been remedied by allotting to each keeper a

separate house for himself and his family.

It is, of course, impossible that a keeper’s family should be

accommodated in a sea lighthouse, which consists of a single tower.

They are, therefore, lodged on shore, near the port which keeps up

the communication between the lighthouse and the mainland. In such

a station life to many minds would be wearisome and monotonous. The

wind sometimes blows with so much violence that the keepers can with

difficulty breathe. They are then compelled to shut themselves up, as

closely as possible, in a tower darkened by the wreathing fog, or by

the foam of swelling waves, which envelopes it like a rent veil. On

fine summer days, like the English light-keepers, they amuse themselves

with fishing. If their abode is not encircled by rocks on which they

can stretch their lines, they knot around the lighthouse tower, at

a certain height, and immediately above the entrance, a stout rope,

suspending some forty or fifty lines, each about four feet long. When

the sea rises, the fish crawl along the wall, and snapping at the

bait, are immediately hooked. The tide goes down, and lo, the tower is

wreathed round with a complete festoon of fish!

* * * * *

Thus, then, the life of a lighthouse-keeper varies little, whether

his post be situated on the English or the French shore, on a rock

washed by English or by French waters, in the Mediterranean or the

North Atlantic. It is a life not free from heavy shadows; but it is one

eminently calculated to develop the patient and enduring qualities of a

man, and to cultivate in him a habit of self-reflection. I do not think

it should be stigmatized as dismal, though it is the fashion so to

speak of it; but surely no life _can_ be dismal which is spent in the

service of humanity, in steadfast devotion to the interests of others;

no life _can_ be dismal which passes in constant contemplation of all

the glories of the sky and all the splendours of the sea—in constant

contemplation of the mightiest and sublimest of God’s works under their

grandest and most solemn aspects!

[Illustration]

APPENDIX.

A LIST OF LIGHTS ON THE BRITISH AND IRISH COASTS.[63]

[63] Compiled from the Admiralty List, and corrected up to April 1870.

[Lightships are indicated by the mark ([++]), pile lighthouses by (§).]

ENGLAND.

SOUTH COAST.

1. =Bishop Rock=, Scilly Isles, lat. 49° 52´; a fixed light,

visible 16 miles; 147 feet high;[64] erected 1858.

[64] The height is given in English feet, from the base to the vane of

the building.

2. =St. Agnes=, Scilly Isles, lat. 49° 53´; revolving light

every minute, visible 16 miles; 74 feet high; erected 1680.

3. [++]=Scour Stones=, lightship, lat. 50° 3´; two fixed

lights, visible 10 and 6 miles; fixed 1841.

4. =Longships=, off Land’s End, lat. 50° 3´ 48´´; one fixed

light, visible 14 miles; 51 feet high; erected 1795.

5. =Penzance=, South Pier, lat. 50° 7´; one fixed light,

visible 10 miles; 22 feet high; erected 1817.

6. =Wolf Crag=, lat. 49° 56´; one light, revolving 30 seconds;

100 feet high; erected 1870.

7. =Lizard=, lat. 49° 57´; fixed light, visible 21 miles; 61

feet high; erected 1751.

8. =Falmouth=, St. Anthony Point, lat. 50° 8´; a revolving

light every 20 seconds, and fixed light, visible 13 miles; 62

feet high; erected 1835.

9. =Falmouth=, Prince of Wale‘ Breakwater; fixed light;

erected 1860.

10. =Eddystone=, lat. 50° 10´ 49´´; one fixed light, visible 13

miles; 89 feet high; erected 1703.

11. =Plymouth=, west end of Breakwater; lat. 50° 20´; two fixed

lights (one red), visible 9 miles; 76 feet high; erected 1844.

12. =Plymouth=, Mill Bay, one fixed light, visible 12 miles.

13. =Plymouth=, West Barbican Pier-head, lat. 50° 22´; one

fixed light (_gas_), visible 6 miles; 20 feet high; erected

1822.

14. =Start Point=, lat. 50° 13´; two lights, revolving every

minute, visible 20 miles; 92 feet high; erected 1836.

15. =Dartmouth=, Kingswear, lat. 50° 20´; one fixed light,

visible 11 miles; 36 feet high; erected 1864.

16. =Dartmouth=; a flagstaff, carrying one fixed light.

17. =Dartmouth=, south part of town; one white light.

18. =Brixham=, pier-head; lat. 50° 24´; one fixed light,

visible 6 miles; erected 1839.

19. =Torquay=, pier-head; lat. 50° 27´; one fixed light,

visible 5 miles; erected 1852.

20. =Teignmouth=, south-west end of Dam; lat. 50° 32´; two

fixed lights, visible 6 miles; 37 feet high; erected 1845.

21. =Lyme Regis=, pier-head and Custom House, lat. 50° 43´; a

bright and a red fixed light, each visible 4 miles; erected

1853.

22. =Portland=, near the Bill, lat. 50° 31´; two fixed lights,

visible 21 and 18 miles; 50 and 85 feet high; erected 1789 and

1867.

23. =Portland=, breakwater, fixed light, visible 9 miles;

erected 1851.

24. [++]=Portland=, Shambles Shoal Lightship; one fixed light,

visible 10 miles; fixed 1859.

25. =Weymouth=, North Pier; two fixed green and two fixed red

lights; erected 1867.

26. =Casquets=, lat. 49° 43´ 17´´; three lights, revolving

every 20 seconds, and visible for 15 miles; one light 45 feet

and the others 68 feet high; erected 1723.

27. =Alderney Island=, lat. 49° 43´; two fixed red lights

(_gas_), visible 5 to 9 miles; 55 and 25 feet high; erected

1859.

28. =Guernsey=, St. Peter Port Old Harbour; one fixed light

(_gas_), visible 3 miles; 24 feet high; erected 1832.

29. =Guernsey=, St. Peter Port New Harbour, lat. 49° 27´; one

fixed light (_gas_), visible 9 miles; 40 feet high; erected

1867.

30. =Guernsey=, Rock of Stanois, lat. 49° 26´; one red light,

revolving every 45 seconds; 117 feet high; erected 1862.

31. =Jersey=, Vernclût Breakwater, lat. 49° 13´; one fixed

light, visible 10 to 12 miles; 30 feet high; erected 1857.

32. =Jersey=, Gouray Pier-head, one fixed light, _gas_.

33. =Jersey=, Victoria Pier, St. Helier, lat. 49° 10´; one

fixed light, visible 6 miles; erected 1858.

34. =Jersey=, Albert Pier, St. Helier; one fixed light (_gas_),

visible 3 miles; erected 1839.

35. =Jersey=, Albert Pier, St. Helier; two fixed lights, _gas_;

erected 1837.

36. =Jersey=, Upper Pier Road, St. Helier, one fixed red light

(_gas_), visible 3 miles; erected 1859.

37. =Corbière Rocks=, lat. 49° 10´ 40´´. New lighthouse

building.

38. [++]=Minquiers Lightship=, lat. 48° 53´ 38´´; two fixed

lights, visible 8 or 10 miles; fixed 1865.

39. =Poole=, north side of harbour, lat. 50° 41´; two fixed

lights, visible 6 miles; erected 1848.

40. =Poole=, North Haven Point; one fixed light.

41. =Isle of Wight=, Needle Rock, lat. 50° 39´ 42´´; one fixed

light, visible 14 miles; 109 feet high; erected 1859.

42. =Hampshire=, Hurst Point, lat. 50° 42´ 26´´; two fixed

lights, visible 13 and 10 miles; one, 85 feet high, erected

1812; the other, 52 feet high, erected 1733.

43. =Isle of Wight=, Yarmouth; two fixed lights, green and

white, erected 1857.

44. [++]=Isle of Wight=, Calshot Lightship; one light,

revolving every minute, visible 9 miles; fixed 1842.

45. =Hampshire=, Southampton, Royal Pier; two fixed lights;

erected 1841.

46. =Isle of Wight=, Ryde Pier; one fixed light, visible 6 or 7

miles; erected 1852.

47. =Hampshire=, Stokes Bay Pier; two fixed lights; erected

1865.

48. =Hampshire=, Southsea Castle, lat. 50° 47´; one fixed

light, visible 9 miles; erected 1822.

49. =Hampshire=, Spit Sand Fort; one fixed light; erected 1866.

50. =Hampshire=, Horse Sand Fort; one fixed light; erected 1866

(temporary).

51. =Hampshire=, Noman’s Land Fort; one fixed red light;

erected 1866.

52. =Isle of Wight=, Brading Haven Fort; one fixed green light;

erected 1866.

53. =Portsmouth=, Clarence Pier; three lights, _gas_; erected

1865.

54. =Portsmouth=, Victoria Pier; two lights, _gas_; erected

1865.

55. =Portsmouth=, Camber; one fixed light.

56. =Portsmouth=, King’s Stairs; one fixed red light; erected

1865.

57. =Portsmouth=, Clarence Victualling Yard, pier; one red

light, _gas_; erected 1865.

58. =Gosport=, one fixed red light; erected 1865.

59. [++]=Warner= Lightship, lat. 50° 43´; revolving every

minute, visible 8 miles; fixed 1854.

60. =Temporary=, to indicate a wreck, 1½ miles S.E. of the

Warner.

61. [++]=Nab= Lightship, lat. 50° 42´ 15´´; two fixed lights,

visible 8 and 6 miles; fixed 1812.

62. =Isle of Wight=, St. Catherine’s Point, lat. 50° 34´ 30´´;

one fixed light, visible 19 miles; 122 feet high; erected 1840.

63. [++]=Owers= Lightship, lat. 50° 38´ 50´´; one fixed light,

visible 10 miles; fixed 1788.

64. =Littlehampton=, north end of pier, lat. 50° 48´; one fixed

light (_gas_), visible 7 miles; 40 feet high; erected 1848.

65. =Littlehampton=, Outer East Pier; one fixed light; erected

1868.

66. =Worthing Pier=, lat. 50° 48´ 30´´; one fixed light;

erected 1862.

67. =Shoreham Harbour=, lat. 50° 50´; two fixed lights, visible

10 miles; 38 and 5 feet high; erected 1825.

68. =Brighton=, Chain Pier, lat. 50° 49´; one fixed green

light, visible 10 miles; 22 feet high; erected 1824.

69. =Newhaven=, West Pier, lat. 50° 47´; two fixed lights,

visible 10 miles; 33 feet high; erected 1864.

70. =Newhaven=, East Pier, one fixed green light; erected 1862.

71. =Beachy Head=, Belle Tout Cliff, lat. 50° 44´ 15´´;

revolving light every 2 minutes, visible 23 miles; 47 feet

high; erected 1828.

72. =Eastbourne=, lat. 50° 45´; a single lamp.

73. =Hastings=, lat. 50° 52´; upper light on west hill, visible

12 miles; lower, on beach, visible 5 miles; both _gas_.

74. =Rye=, Camber, lat. 50° 57´; two fixed lights, _gas_.

75. =Rye=, the pier-head; two fixed lights; erected 1860.

76. =Rye=, the Groin; one fixed light, _gas_; erected 1864.

77. =Dungeness Point=, lat. 50° 54´ 57´´; one fixed light

(_electric_), visible 15 miles; 107 feet high; erected 1792.