One of my most interesting experiences in hunting up materials for books
was at the Bell Rock Lighthouse; interesting because of the novelty of
the situation, the pleasant intercourse with the keepers, and the
grandeur of the subjects brought under my observation.
The lighthouses of this kingdom present, in their construction, a
remarkable evidence of the capacity of man to overcome almost
insurmountable difficulties, and his marvellous power of adapting means
to ends. They also stand forth as a grand army of sentinels, who, with
unobtrusive regularity, open their brilliant eyes on the great deep,
night after night--from year to year--from age to age, and gaze--
Argus-like--all around our shores, to guard our shipping from the
dangers of the sea, perhaps I should rather say from the dangers of the
coast, for it must be well-known to most people that the sailor regards
"blue water" as his safe and native home, and that it is only when he
enters the green and shallow waters of the coast that a measure of
anxiety overclouds his free-and-easy spirit.
It is when he draws near to port that the chief dangers of his career
surround him, and it is then that the lighthouse is watched for
anxiously, and hailed with satisfaction.
These observations scarce need confirmatory proof. Of all the vessels,
great and small, that annually seek and leave our ports, a large
proportion meet their doom, and, despite all our lighthouses, beacons,
and buoys, lay their timbers and cargoes in fragments, on our shores.
This is a significant fact, for if those lost ships be--as they are--a
mere fraction of our commerce, how great must be the fleet, how vast the
wealth, that our lighthouses guide safely into port every year? If all
our coast-lights were to be extinguished for only a single night, the
loss of property and life would be terrible beyond conception. But such
an event can never happen, for our coast-lights arise each evening at
sunset with the regularity of the sun himself. Like the stars, they
burst out when darkness begins to brood upon land and sea like them,
too, their action and aspect are varied. Some, at great heights, in
exposed places, blaze bright and steady like stars of the first
magnitude. Others, in the form of revolving lights, twinkle like the
lesser stars--now veiling, now flashing forth their beams.
One set of lights shine ruby-red like Mars; another set are white, like
Venus; while those on our pier-heads and at our harbour mouths are
green; and, in one or two instances, if not more, they shine, (by means
of reflecting prisms), with borrowed light like the moon; but all--
whether revolving or fixed, large or small, red or white or green--beam
forth, like good angels, offering welcome and guidance to the mariner
approaching from beyond seas; with God-like impartiality shedding their
radiance on friend and foe, and encircling--as with a chaplet of living
diamonds, rubies, and emeralds--our highly favoured little islands of
the sea.
Lighthouses may be divided into _two_ classes, namely, those which stand
on cliffs, and elsewhere, somewhat above the influence of the waves, and
those built on outlying rocks which are barely visible at high tide, or
invisible altogether except at low-water. The North and South Foreland
lights in Kent, the Girdleness in Aberdeenshire, and Inchkeith in the
Forth, are examples of the former. The Eddystone, Bell Rock, and
Skerryvore, are well-known examples of the latter, also the Wolf Rock
off the Land's End.
In one of the latter--namely the Bell Rock--I obtained permission, a
good many years ago, from the Commissioners of Northern Lights, to spend
a fortnight for literary purposes--to be imprisoned, in fact, for that
period.
This lighthouse combines within itself more or less of the elements of
all lighthouses. The principles on which it was built are much the same
with those of Skerryvore. It is founded on a tidal rock, is exposed to
the full "fetch" and fury of an open sea, and it has stood for the
greater part of a century exposed to inconceivable and constantly
recurring violence of wind and wave--not, indeed, unshaken, but
altogether undamaged.
The Bell Rock lies on the east of Scotland, off the mouths of the Forth
and Tay, 12 miles from the Forfarshire coast, which is the nearest land.
Its foundation is always under water except for an hour or two at
low-tide. At high tides there are about 12 or 16 feet of water above
the highest ledge of the Bell Rock, which consists of a series of
sandstone ridges. These, at ordinary low-tides, are uncovered to the
extent of between 100 and 200 yards. At neap tides the rock shows only
a few black teeth with sea-weed gums above the surface.
There is a boat which attends upon this lighthouse. On the occasion of
my visit I left Arbroath in it one morning before daybreak and reached
the Rock about dawn. We cast anchor on arriving--not being able to
land, for as yet there _was_ no land! The lighthouse rose out of the
sea like a bulrush out of a pond! No foundation rock was visible, and
the water played about the tower in a fashion that would have knocked
our boat to pieces had we ventured to approach the entrance-door.
In a short time the crest of the rock began to show above the foam.
There was little or no wind, but the ordinary swell of the calm ocean
rolled in upon these rocks, and burst upon them in such a way that the
tower seemed to rise out of a caldron of boiling milk. At last we saw
the three keepers moving amid the surges. They walked on an iron
platform, which, being light and open, and only a few feet above the
waves, was nearly invisible.
When the tide was near its lowest ebb, so that there was a piece of
smooth water under the lee of the rock, we hoisted out our little "twin"
boat. This was a curious contrivance, being simply a small boat cut
across amidships, so as to form two parts which fitted into each other
like saucers, and were thus rendered small enough to be easily carried
in the larger boat. When about to be used, the twins are put into the
water and their sterns brought together and screwed tight. Thus one
little boat, sharp at each end, is formed.
Embarking in this we rowed between tangle-covered ridges up to the
wrought-iron landing-place. The keepers looked surprised as we drew
near. It was evident that visitors were not "common objects of the
shore" out there!
There were three keepers. One, the chief, was very tall, dark, and
thin; of grave temperament and sedate mien. Another was a florid,
hearty young fellow, full of fire and energy. The third was a stout,
short, thick-set man, with placidity and good-humour enthroned on his
fat countenance. He was a first-rate man. I shall call him Stout; his
comrade, Young. The chief may appropriately be named Long.
There was no time for more than a hurried introduction at first, for the
fresh water-casks and fortnightly allowance of fresh provisions had to
be hoisted into the tower, the empty casks got out, and the boat
reloaded and despatched, before the tide--already rising--should
transform the little harbour into a wild whirlpool. In little more than
an hour the boat was gone, and I proceeded to make myself at home with
my new friends.
Probably every one knows that the Bell Rock is the Inch Cape Rock,
immortalised by Southey in his poem of "Sir Ralph the Rover," in which
he tells how that, in the olden time--
"The Abbot of Aberbrothock
Had placed a bell on the Inch Cape Rock.
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung
And over the waves its warning rung."
A pirate named "Sir Ralph the Rover" came there one day and cut away the
bell in a wicked frolic. Long years after, returning with a rich cargo
of ill-gotten wealth, retributive justice overtook Sir Ralph, caused his
vessel to strike on the Inch Cape Rock--for want of the warning bell
which he had cut away--and sent him and his belongings to the bottom.
Whether this legend be true or not, there is no doubt that the Rock had
been so dangerous to shipping, that seamen often avoided the firths of
Forth and Tay in bad weather for fear of it, and many captains, in their
anxiety to keep clear of it, ran their vessels in the neighbouring
coasts and perished.
Another proof that numerous wrecks took place there lay in the fact that
the fishermen were wont to visit the rock after every gale, for the
purpose of gathering wreckage. It was resolved, therefore, about the
beginning of this century, to erect a lighthouse on the Inchcape Rock,
and to Mr Robert Stevenson, Engineer at that time to the Board of
Northern Lights, was assigned the task of building it. He began the
work in August 1807, and finished it in February 1811.
I began my sojourn in the Bell Rock Lighthouse with breakfast. On
ascending to the kitchen I found Stout preparing it. Mr Long, the
chief, offered, with delicate hospitality, to carry my meals up to the
library, so that I might feast in dignified solitude, but I declined the
honour, preferring to fraternise with the men in the kitchen. Breakfast
over, they showed me through the tower--pointed out and explained
everything--especially the lantern and the library--in which last I
afterwards read Mr Stevenson's interesting volume on the building of
the Bell Rock; a book which has been most appropriately styled the
_Robinson Crusoe_ of Engineering literature.
On returning to the entrance-door, I found that there was now _no land_!
The tide had risen. The lighthouse was a mere pillar in the sea.
"Water, water everywhere"--nothing else visible save the distant coast
of Forfarshire like a faint blue line on the horizon. But in the
evening the tide again fell, and, the moment the rock was uncovered, we
descended. Then Mr Long showed me the various points of interest about
the rock, and Stout volunteered anecdotes connected with these, and
Young corroborated and expounded everything with intense enthusiasm.
Evidently Young rejoiced in the rare opportunity my visit afforded him
of breaking the monotony of life on the Bell Rock. He was like a caged
bird, and on one occasion expressed his sentiments very forcibly by
saying to me, "Oh, sir, I sometimes wish I could jump up and never come
doon!" As for Long and Stout, they had got used to lighthouses and
monotony. The placid countenance of each was a sure index of the
profound tranquillity within!
Small though it was, the rock was a very world in itself to the
residents--crowded with "ports," and "wharves" and "ledges," which had
reference to the building-time. There were "Sir Ralph the Rover's
ledge," and "the Abbot's ledge," and "the Engineer's ledge," and
"Cunningham's ledge," and "the Smith's ledge," etcetera. Then there
were "Port Stevenson," and "Port Boyle," and "Port Hamilton," and many
others--each port being a mere hole capable of holding a boat or two.
Besides which there were "tracks," leading to these ports--such as
"Wilson's track," and "Macurich's track," and "Gloag's track." And then
there were "Hope's Wharf," and "Rae's Wharf," and "Watt's Reach," and
"Scoresby Point," while, among numerous outlying groups of rocklets,
there were the "Royal Burghs," the "Crown Lawyers," and the "Maritime
Sheriffs"--each and all teeming with interesting associations to those
who know the Story of the Rock,--_all_ comprehended within an area of a
few hundred yards--the whole affair being wiped entirely and regularly
off the face of nature by every rising tide.
Close beside Rae's Wharf, on which we stood, Mr Long showed me the
holes in which had been fixed the ends of the great beams of the beacon.
The beacon was a point of considerable interest to me. If you had seen
the rock as I saw it, reader, in a storm, with the water boiling all
over and round it for more than a mile, like seething milk--and if you
had reflected that the _first_ beacon built there was carried away in a
gale, you would have entertained very exalted ideas of the courage of
the men who built the Bell Rock lighthouse.
While the tower was building, Mr Stevenson and his men were exposed for
many days and nights in this beacon--this erection of timber-beams, with
a mere pigeon-house on the top of it for a dwelling. Before the beacon
was built, the men lived in the _Pharos_ floating light; a vessel which
was moored not far from the Rock. Every day--weather permitting--they
rowed to the rock, landed, and worked for _one, two_, or _three_ hours,
when they were drowned out, so to speak, and obliged to return to their
floating home. Sometimes the landing was easy. More frequently it was
difficult. Occasionally it was impossible. When a landing was
accomplished, they used to set to work without delay. There was no time
to lose. Some bored holes in the rock for hold-fasts; others, with pick
and chisel, cut out the foundation-pit. Then the courses began to be
laid. On each occasion of landing the smith had to set up his bellows,
light his fire, and work in hot haste; because his whole shop, except
the anvil, had to be taken down, and carried away every tide!
Frequently, in fine weather, this enterprising son of Vulcan might have
been seen toiling with his head enveloped in volumes of smoke and
sparks, and his feet in the water, which gradually rose to his ankles
and knees until, with a sudden "hiss," it extinguished his fire and
ended his labours for the day. Then he was forced to pack up his
bellows and tools, and decamp with the rest of the men.
Sometimes they wrought in calm, sometimes in storm; always, more or
less, in water. Three hours was considered a fair day's work. When
they had the good fortune to work "double tides" in a day, they made
five, or five-and-a-half, hours; but this was of rare occurrence.
"You see that mark there, sir, on Smith's Ledge?" said Mr Long to me
one day, "that was the place where the forge stood; and the ledge
beyond, with the old bit of iron on it, is the `_Last Hope_,' where Mr
Stevenson and his men were so nearly lost." Then he went on to tell me
the following incident, as illustrating one of the many narrow escapes
made by the builders.
One day, soon after the men had commenced work, it began to blow hard,
and the crew of the boat belonging to the attending vessel, named the
"Smeaton," fearing that her moorings might be insufficient, went off to
examine them. This was wrong. The workmen on the rock were
sufficiently numerous to completely fill three boats. For one of these
to leave the rock was to run a great risk, as the event proved. Almost
as soon as they reached the "Smeaton," her cables parted and she went
adrift, carrying the boat with her away to leeward, and although sail
was instantly made, they found it impossible to regain the rock against
wind and tide. Mr Stevenson observed this with the deepest anxiety,
but the men, (busy as bees about the rock), were not aware of it at
first.
The situation was terrible. There were thirty-two men left on a rock
which would in a short time be overflowed to a depth of twelve or
fifteen feet by a stormy sea, and only two boats in which to remove
them. These two boats, if loaded to the gunwales, could have held only
a few more than the half of them.
While the sound of the numerous hammers and the ring of the anvil were
heard, the situation did not appear so hopeless; but soon the men at the
lowest part of the foundation were driven from work by the rising tide;
then the forge-fire was extinguished, and the men generally began to
make towards their respective boats for their jackets and dry socks.
When it was discovered that one of the three boats was gone not a word
was uttered, but the men looked at each other in evident perplexity.
They seemed to realise their position at once.
In a few minutes some of that band must inevitably be left to perish,
for the absent boat and vessel were seen drifting farther and farther
away to leeward. Mr Stevenson knew that in such a case, where life and
death were in the balance, a desperate struggle among the men for
precedence would be certain. Indeed he afterwards learned that the
pickmen had resolved to stick by their boat against all hazards. While
they were thus gazing in silence at each other and at the distant
vessel, their enterprising leader had been casting about in his mind as
to the best method of at least attempting the deliverance of his men,
and he finally turned round to propose, as a forlorn hope, that all
hands should strip off their upper clothing, that every unnecessary
article should be removed from the boats, that a specified number should
get into each, and that the remainder should hang on by the gunwales,
and thus be dragged through the water while they were rowed cautiously
towards the "Smeaton"! But when he tried to speak his mouth was so
parched that his tongue refused utterance! and then he discovered, (as
he says himself), "that saliva is as necessary to speech as the tongue
itself!" Turning to a pool, he moistened his lips with sea-water, and
found immediate relief. He was again about to speak when some one
shouted "a boat! a boat!" and, sure enough, a large boat was seen
through the haze making towards the rock. This timely visitor was James
Spink, the Bell Rock pilot, who had come off express from Arbroath with
letters. His visit was altogether an unusual one, and his truly
providential appearance unquestionably prevented loss of life on that
critical occasion. This is one specimen--selected from innumerable
instances of danger and risk--which may give one some idea of what is
encountered by those who build such lighthouses as the Bell Rock.
Our rambles on the rock were necessarily of short duration. We used to
stand in the doorway watching the retreating waves, and, the moment the
rails were uncovered, we hurried down the ladder--all of us bent on
getting as much exercise as possible on land! We marched in single
file, up and down the narrow rails, until the rock was uncovered--then
we rambled over the slippery ledges.
Sometimes we had one hour--sometimes two, or even three hours, according
to the state of the tides. Then the returning waves drove us gradually
from the rocks to the rails, from the rails to the ladder--and so back
into the lighthouse.
Among other things that impressed me deeply was the grandeur of the
waves at the Bell Rock.
One enjoys an opportunity there of studying the form and colour of ocean
billows which cannot be obtained on any ordinary shore, because, the
water being deep alongside the Rock, these waves come up to it in all
their unbroken magnificence. I tried to paint them, but found it
difficult, owing to the fact that, like refractory children, they would
not stand still to be painted! It was not only in stormy weather that
these waves arose. I have seen them during a dead calm, when the sea
was like undulating glass. No doubt the cause of them was a gale in
some distant part of the sea--inducing a heavy ground-swell; but, be the
cause what it might, these majestic rollers often came in without a
breath of air to help them, and with the sun glittering on their
light-green crystal sides. Their advance seemed slow and solemn amid
the deep silence, which made them all the more impressive. The rise of
each wave was so gradual that you could not tell where it began in the
distant sea. As it drew near, it took definite form and swelled
upwards, and at last came on like a wall of glass--probably ten or
twelve feet high--so high, at all events, that I felt as if looking up
at it from my position on the low rock. When close at hand its green
edge lipped over and became fringed with white--then it bent forward
with a profound obeisance to the Bell Rock and broke the silence with a
grand reverberating roar, as it fell in a ruin of foam and rushed up to
my very feet!
When those waves began to paint the canvas with their own spray and
change the oil into a water-colour, I was constrained to retire to the
lighthouse, where Mr Long, (a deeply interested student), watched me as
I continued my studies from the doorway.
Mr Long had an inquiring mind and closely observed all that went on
around him. Among other things, he introduced me to a friend of his, a
species of fish which he called a "_Paddle_."
Stout called it a sucker, in virtue of an arrangement on its breast
whereby it could fasten itself to a rock and hold on. This fish dwelt
in Port Hamilton, near Sir Ralph the Rover's ledge, and could be visited
at low-tide. He happened to be engaged at that time in watching his
wife's spawn, and could not be induced to let go his hold of the rock on
any account! Mr Long pulled at him pretty forcibly once or twice, but
with no effect, and the fish did not seem in the least alarmed! While
Mr Paddle did duty in the nursery, Mrs Paddle roamed the sea at large.
Apparently women's rights have made some progress in that quarter! It
was supposed by Stout that she took the night-watches. Mr Young
inclined to the opinion that she attended to the commissariat--was out
marketing in fact, and brought food to her husband. All that I can say
on the matter is, that I visited the family frequently, and always saw
the father "on duty," but only once found Mrs Paddle at home! The
tameness of this kind of fish is very remarkable. One day I saw a large
one in a pool which actually allowed me to put my hand under him and
lift him gently out! Suddenly it occurred to me that I might paint him!
The palette chanced to be at hand, so I began at once. In about two
minutes the paddle gave a flop of discomfort as he lay on the rock; I
therefore put him into a small pool for a minute or so to let him,
breathe, then took him out and had a second sitting, after which he had
another rest and a little refreshment in the pool. Thus in about ten
minutes, I had his portrait, and put him back into his native element.
I am inclined to think that this is the only fish in the sea that has
had his portrait taken and returned to tell the tale to his admiring,
perhaps unbelieving, friends!
Of course one of the most interesting points in the lighthouse was the
lantern. I frequently sat in it at night with the man on duty, who
expounded the lighting apparatus to me, or "spun yarns."
The fifth day of my sojourn on the Bell Rock was marked by an event of
great interest,--the arrival of a fishing-boat with letters and
newspapers. I had begun by that time to feel some degree of longing to
hear something about the outer world, though I had not felt lonely by
any means--my companions were too pleasant to admit of that. Our little
world contained a large amount of talent! Mr Long had a magnificent
bass voice and made good use of it. Then, Young played the violin, (not
so badly), and sang tenor--not quite so well; besides which he played
the accordion. His instrument, however, was not perfect. One of the
bass notes would not sound, and one of the treble notes could not by any
means be silenced! Between the two, some damage was done to the
harmony; but we were not particular. As to Stout--he could neither sing
nor play, but he was a _splendid_ listener! and the sight of his
good-humoured face, smiling through clouds of tobacco smoke as he sat by
the kitchen fire, was of itself sufficient to encourage us.
But Stout could do more than listen and admire. He was cook to the
establishment during my visit. The men took this duty by turns--each
for a fortnight--and Stout excelled the others. It was he who knew how
to extract sweet music from the tea-kettle and the frying-pan! But
Stout's forte was buttered toast! He was quite an adept at the
formation of this luxury. If I remember rightly, it was an entire loaf
that Stout cut up and toasted each morning for breakfast. He knew
nothing of delicate treatment. Every slice was an inch thick at the
least! It was quite a study to see him go to work. He never sawed with
the knife. Having a powerful hand and arm, one sweep of the blade
sufficed for one slice, and he cut up the whole loaf before beginning to
toast. Then, he always had the fire well prepared. You never saw
alternate stripes of black and white on Stout's toast; and he laid on
the butter as he might have laid tar on the side of a ship, thick and
heavy. He never scraped it off one part to put it on another--and he
never picked the lumps out of the holes. Truly, Stout was quite a
genius in this matter.
The fisherman who brought off our letters could not have landed if the
weather had not been fine. Poor fellow! after I left, he lost his boat
in consequence of being on too familiar terms with the Bell Rock. He
was in the habit of fishing near the rock, and occasionally ran in at
low-water to smoke a pipe with the keepers. One morning he stayed too
long. The large green billows which had been falling with solemn boom
on the outlying rocks began to lip over into the pool where his boat
lay--Port Stevenson. Embarking in haste with his comrade he pushed off.
Just then there came a tremendous wave, the crest of which toppled over
Smith's Ledge, fell into the boat, and sank it like a stone. The men
were saved by the keepers, but their boat was totally destroyed. They
never saw a fragment of it again. What a commentary this was on the
innumerable wrecks that have taken place on the Inch Cape Rock in days
gone by!
Sometimes, on a dark stormy night, I used to try to realise something of
this. Turning my back on the lighthouse I tried to forget it, and
imagine what must have been the feelings of those who had actually stood
there and been driven inch by inch to the higher ledges, with the
certain knowledge that their doom was fixed, and without the comfort and
assurance that, behind them, stood a strong tower of refuge from the
storm!
I was fortunate, during my stay, in having experience of every variety
of weather--from a dead calm to a regular gale. It was towards the end
of my visit that the gale came on, and it lasted two days. No language
can convey an adequate idea of the sublimity of the scene and the sense
of power in the seething waves that waged furious war over the Rock
during the height of that gale. The spray rose above the kitchen
windows, (70 feet on the tower), in such solid masses as to darken the
room in passing, and twice during the storm we were struck by waves with
such force as to shake the tower to its foundation.
This storm delayed the "Relief boat" a day. Next day, however, it
succeeded in getting alongside--and at length, after a most agreeable
and interesting sojourn of two weeks, I parted from the hospitable
keepers with sincere regret and bade adieu to a lighthouse which is not
only a monument of engineering skill, but a source of safety to the
shipping, and of confidence to the mariners frequenting these waters.
In former days men shunned the dreaded neighbourhood of the Inch Cape
Rock with anxious care. Now, they look out for that:--
"Ruddy gem of changeful light
Bound on the dusky brow of night,--"
And _make for it_ with perfect safety. In time past human lives, and
noble ships, and costly merchandise were lost on the Bell Rock every
year. Now, disaster to shipping there is not even dreamed of; and one
of the most notable proofs of the value of the lighthouse, (and,
indirectly, of all other lighthouses), lies in the fact, that not a
single wreck has occurred on the Bell Rock since that auspicious evening
in 1811 when the sturdy pillar opened its eyes for the first time, and
threw its bright beams far and wide over the North Sea.