The campaign of 1759 opened on the 3rd of July with an attack commanded
by Smeaton in person in the old _Buss_.
Previous to this, on March 21st, the coast was visited by a gale of such
severity that immense mischief was done on shore. Ships in the port,
houses, etcetera, at Plymouth, were greatly damaged; nevertheless, the
unfinished tower out upon the exposed Eddystone reef stood fast, having
defied the utmost fury of winds and waves.
It was found, however, that some loss had been sustained, the buoy of
the mooring chain, as usual, was gone; but worse than that, one of the
stones left in the store-room, a mass which weighed four and a half
hundredweight, was missing. It had been washed out of the store-room
entry by the water!
This was a serious loss, as it obliged the men to retire to the _Buss_,
where they were constrained to spin yarns and twirl their thumbs in
idleness till the lost stone was replaced by another. Then they went to
work according to custom "with a will," and, on the 21st of July,
completed the second floor; a whole room with a vaulted roof having been
built in seven days.
At this point they proceeded to fit in the entry and store-room doors;
and here another vexatious check appeared imminent. It was found that
the block-tin with which the door-hooks were to be fastened had been
forgotten!
Doubtless Mr Smeaton felt inclined to emulate the weather by "storming"
on this occasion, but that would have been of no use. Neither was it of
any avail that Teddy Maroon scratched his head and wrinkled his visage
like that of a chimpanzee monkey. The tin _was_ not; the hooks would
not hold without it, and to send ashore for it would have involved great
delay. Mr Smeaton proved equal to the occasion.
"Off with you, lads, to the _Buss_," he cried, "and bring hither every
pewter plate and dish on board."
"Think o' that now!" exclaimed Maroon his wrinkles expanding into a
bland smile of admiration.
"Don't think of it, but _do_ it," returned Smeaton, with a laugh.
The thing was done at once. The "plate" of the _Buss_ was melted down
and mixed with lead, the hooks were fixed into the jambs, and the doors
were hung in triumph. Solid doors they were too; not slender things
with wooden panels, but thick iron-plated affairs somewhat resembling
the armour of a modern ship-of-war, and fitted to defy the ocean's most
powerful battering-rams.
Progress thereafter was steady and rapid. There were points here and
there in the work which served as landmarks. On the 6th of August
Smeaton witnessed a strange sight--a bright halo round the top of the
building. It was no miracle, though it looked like one. Doubtless some
scientific men could give a satisfactory explanation of it, and prove
that it was no direct interposition of the hand of God. So could they
give a satisfactory account of the rainbow, though the rainbow _is_ a
direct sign to man. Whatever the cause, there the glory circled like a
sign of blessing on the work, and a fitting emblem of the life-giving,
because death-warding, beams which were soon to be sent streaming from
that tower by the hand of man.
Three days afterwards they began to lay the balcony floor; on the 17th
the main column was completed, and on the 26th the masonry was finished.
It only remained that the lantern should be set up. But this lantern
was a mighty mass of metal and glass, made with great care, and of
immense strength and weight. Of course it had to be taken off to the
rock in pieces, and we may almost say _of course_ the ocean offered
opposition. Then, as if everything had conspired to test the endurance
and perseverance of the builders, the first and second coppersmiths fell
ill on the 4th September. Skilled labour such as theirs could not
readily be replaced in the circumstances, and every hour of the now far
advanced season had become precious. Smeaton had set his heart on
"showing a light" that year. In this difficulty, being a skilled
mechanic himself, he threw off his coat and set to work with the men.
The materials of the lantern were landed on the 16th and fitted
together, and the cupola was hoisted to its place on the 17th. This
latter operation was extremely hazardous, the cupola being upwards of
half a ton in weight, and it had to be raised outside the building and
kept carefully clear of it the while. It seemed as if the elements
themselves favoured this critical operation, or rather, as though they
stood aghast and breathlessly still, while this, the crowning evidence
of their defeat, was being put on. It was accomplished in less than
half an hour, and, strange to say, no sooner was the tackling loosed and
the screws that held the cupola fixed, than up got wind and sea once
more in an uproarious gale of consternation from the east!
On the 18th a huge gilt ball was screwed on the top by Smeaton's own
hand, and thus the building of the Eddystone lighthouse was finished.
There still remained, however, a good deal of copper and wood-work to be
done in the interior, but there was now no doubt in Smeaton's mind that
the light would be exhibited that season. He therefore removed his bed
and stores from the _Buss_ to the lighthouse, and remained there, the
better to superintend the completion of the work.
One evening he looked into the upper storeroom, where some bars were
being heated over a charcoal fire. He became giddy with the fumes,
staggered, and fell down insensible. Assuredly poor Smeaton's labours
would have terminated then and there if it had not been that one of the
men had providentially followed him. A startled cry was heard--one of
those cries full of meaning which cause men to leap half involuntarily
to the rescue.
"Och! somebody's kilt," cried Maroon, flinging away his pipe and
springing up the staircase, followed by others, "wather! wather! look
alive there!"
Some bore Smeaton to the room below, and others ran down for sea-water,
which they dashed over their master unmercifully. Whether or not it was
the best treatment we cannot say, but it sufficed, for Smeaton soon
recovered consciousness and found himself lying like a half drowned rat
on the stone floor.
At last, on the 1st of October, the lantern was lighted for trial during
the day, with 24 candles. They burned well though a gale was blowing.
On the 4th an express was sent to the Corporation of the Trinity House
to say that all was ready. A short delay was made to allow of the
lighting-up being advertised, and finally, on the 16th of October 1759,
the new Eddystone lighthouse cast its first benignant rays over the
troubled sea.
It chanced on that day that an appropriate storm raged, as if to
inaugurate the great event. Owing to this, Smeaton could not get off to
be at the lighting-up of his own building. From the shore, however, he
beheld its initiative gleam as it opened its bright eye to the reality
of its grand position, and we can well believe that his hardy,
persevering spirit exulted that night over the success of his labours.
We can well believe, also, that there was in him a deeper and higher
feeling than that of mere joy, if we may judge of the cast of his mind
by the inscriptions put by him upon his work during progress and at
completion.
Round the upper store-room, on the course under the ceiling, he
chiselled the words:--
"Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it."