"Praise God!"
The lighthouse, thus happily completed, rose to a height of seventy
feet, and consisted of forty-six courses of masonry. The internal
arrangements will be understood at once by reference to our engraving,
which exhibits a section of the tower. There was first the solid part,
35 feet in height and 16 feet 8 inches in diameter at the top, the base
being much wider. Then came the still very solid portion with the
entrance-door and the spiral staircase. Above that, the first
store-room, which had no windows. Next, the second store-room, with two
windows. Next the kitchen, followed by the bed-room, both of which had
four windows; and, last, the lantern. The rooms were 12 feet 4 inches
in diameter, with walls 2 feet 2 inches thick, and the whole fabric,
from top to bottom, was so dovetailed, trenailed, cemented,
inter-connected, and bound together, that it formed and still continues,
a unique and immoveable mass of masonry.
There were others besides Smeaton who watched, that night, with deep
interest the opening of the Eddystone's bright eye.
In a humble apartment in the village of Cawsand Bay an aged man stood,
supported by an elderly man, at a window, gazing seaward with an
expression of intense expectation, while a very aged woman sat crooning
over the fire, holding the hand of a fair girl just verging on early
womanhood.
"D'ee see it yet, Tommy?" asked the old man, eagerly.
"No, not yet," replied Tommy, "not--yes--there--!"
"Ah! that's it, I see it," cried old John Potter, with a faint gleam of
his old enthusiasm. "There it goes, brighter than ever. A blessed
light, and much wanted, Tommy, much, much wanted."
He leaned heavily on his son's arm and, after gazing for some time,
asked to be taken back to his chair opposite old Martha.
"What is it?" inquired Martha, bending her ear towards a pretty little
mouth.
"Grandfather has just seen the new Eddystone lighted up for the first
time," replied Nora.
"Ay, ay," said Martha in a moralising tone, as she turned her eyes
towards the fire, "ay, ay, so soon! I always had a settled conviction
that that lighthouse would be burnt."
"It's _not_ burnt, grannie," said Nora, smiling, "it's only lighted up."
"Well, well, my dear," returned Martha, with a solemn shake of the head,
"there an't much difference atween lighted-up an' burnt-up. It's just
as I always said to your father, my dear--to your grandfather I mean--
depend upon it, John, I used to say, that light'ouse will either be
burnt up or blowed over. Ay, ay, dear me!"
She subsided into silent meditation, and thus, good reader, we shall bid
her farewell, merely remarking that she and her honest husband did not
die for a considerable time after that. As she grew older and blinder,
old Martha became more and more attached to the Bible and the
dictionary, as well as to dear good blooming Nora, who assisted her in
the perusal of the former, her sweet ringing voice being the only one at
last that the old woman could hear. But although it was evident that
Martha had changed in many ways, her opinions remained immoveable. She
feebly maintained these, and held her "settled convictions" to the last
gasp.
As for Teddy Maroon, he returned to Ireland after the lighthouse was
finished and quietly got married, and settled on the margin of the bog
where the Teddy from whom he sprang still lingered, among his numerous
descendants, the life of his juvenile kindred, and an oracle on
lighthouses.
Time with its relentless scythe at last swept all the actors in our tale
away: Generations after them came and went. The world grew older and
more learned; whether more wise is still an open question! Knowledge
increased, science and art advanced apace. Electricity, steam, iron,
gold, muscle, and brain, all but wrought miracles, and almost everything
underwent change more or less; but, amid all the turmoil of the world's
progress and all the storms of elemental strife, one object remained
unaltered, and apparently unalterable--the Eddystone Lighthouse! True,
indeed, its lantern underwent vast improvements, the Argand lamp and
lens replacing the old candle, and causing its crown to shine with a
whiter light and an intensified glory as it grew older, but as regards
its sturdy frame, there it has stood on the rugged rocks amid the
tormented surges, presenting its bold and battered, but undamaged, front
to the utmost fury of blast and billow for upwards of a hundred years.