The Lighthouse

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  LIFE IN THE BEACON--STORY OF THE EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE.

  Some time after this a number of the men took up their permanent abodein the beacon house, and the work was carried on by night as well as byday, when the state of the tide and the weather permitted.

  Immense numbers of fish called poddlies were discovered to be swimmingabout at high water. So numerous were they, that the rock was sometimeshidden by the shoals of them. Fishing for these thenceforth became apastime among the men, who not only supplied their own table with freshfish, but at times sent presents of them to their friends in thevessels.

  All the men who dwelt on the beacon were volunteers, for Mr Stevensonfelt that it would be cruel to compel men to live at such a post ofdanger. Those who chose, therefore, remained in the lightship or thetender, and those who preferred it went to the beacon. It is scarcelynecessary to add, that among the latter were found all the "sea-sickmen!"

  These bold artificers were not long of having their courage tested.Soon after their removal to the beacon they experienced some very roughweather, which shook the posts violently, and caused them to twist in amost unpleasant way.

  But it was not until some time after that a storm arose, which causedthe stoutest-hearted of them all to quail more than once.

  It began on the night of as fine a day as they had had the whole season.

  In order that the reader may form a just conception of what we are aboutto describe, it may not be amiss to note the state of things at therock, and the employment of the men at the time.

  A second forge had been put up on the higher platform of the beacon, butthe night before that of which we write, the lower platform had beenburst up by a wave, and the mortar and forge thereon, with all theimplements, were cast down. The damaged forge was therefore set up forthe time on its old site, near the foundation-pit of the lighthouse,while the carpenters were busy repairing the mortar-gallery.

  The smiths were as usual busy sharpening picks and irons, and makingbats and stanchions, and other iron work connected with the buildingoperations. The landing-master's crew were occupied in assisting themillwrights to lay the railways to hand, and joiners were kept almostconstantly employed in fitting picks to their handles, which latter werevery frequently broken.

  Nearly all the miscellaneous work was done by seamen. There was no suchcharacter on the Bell Rock as the common labourer. The sailorscheerfully undertook the work usually performed by such men, and theydid it admirably.

  In consequence of the men being able to remain on the beacon, the workwent on literally "by double tides"; and at night the rock was oftenablaze with torches, while the artificers wrought until the waves drovethem away.

  On the night in question there was a low spring-tide, so that anight-tide's work of five hours was secured. This was one of thelongest spells they had had since the beginning of the operations.

  The stars shone brightly in a very dark sky. Not a breath of air wasfelt. Even the smoke of the forge fire rose perpendicularly a shortway, until an imperceptible zephyr wafted it gently to the west. Yetthere was a heavy swell rolling in from the eastward, which causedenormous waves to thunder on Ralph the Rover's Ledge, as if they woulddrive down the solid rock.

  Mingled with this solemn, intermittent roar of the sea was thecontinuous clink of picks, chisels, and hammers, and the loud clang ofthe two forges; that on the beacon being distinctly different from theother, owing to the wooden erection on which it stood rendering it deepand thunderous. Torches and forge fires cast a glare over all,rendering the foam pale green and the rocks deep red. Some of theactive figures at work stood out black and sharp against the light,while others shone in its blaze like red-hot fiends. Above all soundedan occasional cry from the sea-gulls, as they swooped down into themagic circle of light, and then soared away shrieking into darkness.

  "Hard work's not easy," observed James Dove, pausing in the midst of hislabours to wipe his brow.

  "True for ye; but as we've got to arn our brid be the sweat of ourbrows, we're in the fair way to fortin," said Ned O'Connor, blowing awayenergetically with the big bellows.

  Ned had been reappointed to this duty since the erection of the secondforge, which was in Ruby's charge. It was our hero's hammer thatcreated such a din up in the beacon, while Dove wrought down on therock.

  "We'll have a gale to-night," said the smith; "I know that by thefeelin' of the air."

  "Well, I can't boast o' much knowledge o' feelin'," said O'Connor; "butI believe you're right, for the fish towld me the news this mornin'."

  This remark of Ned had reference to a well-ascertained fact, that, whena storm was coming, the fish invariably left the neighbourhood of therock; doubtless in order to seek the security of depths which are notaffected by winds or waves.

  While Dove and his comrade commented on this subject, two of the othermen had retired to the south-eastern end of the rock to take a look atthe weather. These were Peter Logan, the foreman, whose positionrequired him to have a care for the safety of the men as well as for theprogress of the work, and our friend Bremner, who had just descendedfrom the cooking-room, where he had been superintending the preparationof supper.

  "It will be a stiff breeze, I fear, to-night," said Logan.

  "D'ye think so I" said Bremner; "it seems to me so calm that I wouldthink a storm a'most impossible. But the fish never tell lies."

  "True. You got no fish to-day, I believe?" said Logan.

  "Not a nibble," replied the other.

  As he spoke, he was obliged to rise from a rock on which he had seatedhimself, because of a large wave, which, breaking on the outer reefs,sent the foam a little closer to his toes than was agreeable.

  "That was a big one, but yonder is a bigger," cried Logan.

  The wave to which he referred was indeed a majestic wall of water. Itcame on with such an awful appearance of power, that some of the men whoperceived it could not repress a cry of astonishment.

  In another moment it fell, and, bursting over the rocks with a terrificroar, extinguished the forge fire, and compelled the men to take refugein the beacon.

  Jamie Dove saved his bellows with difficulty. The other men, catchingup their things as they best might, crowded up the ladder in a more orless draggled condition.

  The beacon house was gained by means of one of the main beams, which hadbeen converted into a stair, by the simple process of nailing smallbattens thereon, about a foot apart from each other. The men could onlygo up one at a time, but as they were active and accustomed to the work,were all speedily within their place of refuge. Soon afterwards the seacovered the rock, and the place where they had been at work was a massof seething foam.

  Still there was no wind; but dark clouds had begun to rise on theseaward horizon.

  The sudden change in the appearance of the rock after the last torcheswere extinguished was very striking. For a few seconds there seemed tobe no light at all. The darkness of a coal mine appeared to havesettled down on the scene. But this soon passed away, as the men's eyesbecame accustomed to the change, and then the dark loom of the advancingbillows, the pale light of the flashing foam, and occasional gleams ofphosphorescence, and glimpses of black rocks in the midst of all, tookthe place of the warm, busy scene which the spot had presented a fewminutes before.

  "Supper, boys!" shouted Bremner.

  Peter Bremner, we may remark in passing, was a particularly usefulmember of society. Besides being small and corpulent, he was a capitalcook. He had acted during his busy life both as a groom and ahouse-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, a writer's clerk, and anapothecary--in which latter profession he had acquired the art ofwriting and suggesting recipes, and a taste for making collections innatural history. He was very partial to the use of the lancet, andquite a terrible adept at tooth-drawing. In short, Peter was the_factotum_ of the beacon house, where, in addition to his other offices,he filled those of barber and steward to the admiration of all.
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  But Bremner came out in quite a new and valuable light after he went toreside in the beacon--namely, as a storyteller. During the long periodsof inaction that ensued, when the men were imprisoned there by storms,he lightened many an hour that would have otherwise hung heavily ontheir hands, and he cheered the more timid among them by speakinglightly of the danger of their position.

  On the signal for supper being given, there was a general rush down theladders into the kitchen, where as comfortable a meal as one could wishfor was smoking in pot and pan and platter.

  As there were twenty-three to partake, it was impossible, of course, forall to sit down to table. They were obliged to stow themselves away onsuch articles of furniture as came most readily to hand, and eat as theybest could. Hungry men find no difficulty in doing this. For some timethe conversation was restricted to a word or two. Soon, however, asappetite began to be appeased, tongues began to loosen. The silence wasfirst broken by a groan.

  "Ochone!" exclaimed O'Connor, as well as a mouthful of pork and potatoeswould allow him; "was it _you_ that groaned like a dyin' pig?"

  The question was put to Forsyth, who was holding his head between hishands, and swaying his body to and fro in agony.

  "Hae ye the colic, freen'?" enquired John Watt, in a tone of sympathy.

  "No-n-o," groaned Forsyth, "it's a--a--too-tooth!"

  "Och! is that all?"

  "Have it out, man, at once."

  "Ram a red-hot skewer into it."

  "No, no; let it alone, and it'll go away."

  Such was the advice tendered, and much more of a similar nature, to thesuffering man.

  "There's nothink like 'ot water an' cold," said Joe Dumsby in the tonesof an oracle. "Just fill your mouth with bilin' 'ot Water, an' dip yourface in a basin o' cold, and it's sartain to cure."

  "Or kill," suggested Jamie Dove.

  "It's better now," said Forsyth, with a sigh of relief. "I scrunched abit o' bone into it; that was all."

  "There's nothing like the string and the red-hot poker," suggested RubyBrand. "Tie the one end o' the string to a post and t'other end to thetooth, an' stick a red-hot poker to your nose. Away it comes at once."

  "Hoot! nonsense," said Watt. "Ye might as weel tie a string to his lugan' dip him into the sea. Tak' my word for't, there's naethin' likepooin'."

  "D'you mean pooh pooin'?" enquired Dumsby.

  Watt's reply was interrupted by a loud gust of wind, which burst uponthe beacon house at that moment and shook it violently.

  Everyone started up, and all clustered round the door and windows toobserve the appearance of things without. Every object was shrouded inthick darkness, but a flash of lightning revealed the approach of thestorm which had been predicted, and which had already commenced to blow.

  All tendency to jest instantly vanished, and for a time some of the menstood watching the scene outside, while others sat smoking their pipesby the fire in silence.

  "What think ye of things?" enquired one of the men, as Ruby came up fromthe mortar-gallery, to which he had descended at the first gust of thestorm.

  "I don't know what to think," said he gravely. "It's clear enough thatwe shall have a stiffish gale. I think little of that with a tightcraft below me and plenty of sea-room; but I don't know what to think ofa _beacon_ in a gale."

  As he spoke another furious burst of wind shook the place, and a flashof vivid lightning was speedily followed by a crash of thunder, thatcaused some hearts there to beat faster and harder than usual.

  "Pooh!" cried Bremner, as he proceeded coolly to wash up his dishes,"that's nothing, boys. Has not this old timber house weathered all thegales o' last winter, and d'ye think it's goin' to come down before asummer breeze? Why, there's a lighthouse in France, called the Tour deCordouan, which rises light out o' the sea, an' I'm told it had somefearful gales to try its metal when it was buildin'. So don't go an'git narvous."

  "Who's gittin' narvous?" exclaimed George Forsyth, at whom Bremner hadlooked when he made the last remark.

  "Sure ye misjudge him," cried O'Connor. "It's only another twist o' thetoothick. But it's all very well in you to spake lightly o' gales inthat fashion. Wasn't the Eddystone Lighthouse cleared away one stormynight, with the engineer and all the men, an' was niver more heard on?"

  "That's true," said Ruby. "Come, Bremner, I have heard you say that youhad read all about that business. Let's hear the story; it will help towhile away the time, for there's no chance of anyone gettin' to sleepwith such a row outside."

  "I wish it may be no worse than a row outside," said Forsyth in adoleful tone, as he shook his head and looked round on the partyanxiously.

  "Wot! another fit o' the toothick?" enquired O'Connor ironically.

  "Don't try to put us in the dismals," said Jamie Dove, knocking theashes out of his pipe, and refilling that solace of his leisure hours."Let us hear about the Eddystone, Bremner; it'll cheer up our spirits abit."

  "Will it though?" said Bremner, with a look that John Watt described as"awesome", "Well, we shall see."

  "You must know, boys--"

  "'Ere, light your pipe, my 'earty," said Dumsby.

  "Hold yer tongue, an' don't interrupt him," cried one of the men,flattening Dumsby's cap over his eyes.

  "And don't drop yer _h_aitches," observed another, "'cause if ye dothey'll fall into the sea an' be drownded, an' then ye'll have none leftto put into their wrong places when ye wants 'em."

  "Come, Bremner, go on."

  "Well, then, boys," began Bremner, "you must know that it is more than ahundred years since the Eddystone Lighthouse was begun--in the year1696, if I remember rightly--that would be just a hundred and thirteenyears to this date. Up to that time these rocks were as great a terrorto sailors as the Bell Rock is now, or, rather, as it was last year, fornow that this here comfortable beacon has been put up, it's no longer aterror to nobody--"

  "Except Geordie Forsyth," interposed O'Connor.

  "Silence," cried the men.

  "Well," resumed Bremner, "as you all know, the Eddystone Rocks lie inthe British Channel, fourteen miles from Plymouth and ten from the RamHead, an' open to a most tremendious sea from the Bay o' Biscay and theAtlantic, as I knows well, for I've passed the place in a gale, closeenough a'most to throw a biscuit on the rocks.

  "They are named the Eddystone Rocks because of the whirls and eddiesthat the tides make among them; but for the matter of that, the BellRock might be so named on the same ground. Howsever, it's six o' onean' half a dozen o' t'other. Only there's this difference, that thehighest point o' the Eddystone is barely covered at high water, whilehere the rock is twelve or fifteen feet below water at high tide.

  "Well, it was settled by the Trinity Board in 1696, that a lighthouseshould be put up, and a Mr Winstanley was engaged to do it. He was anuncommon clever an' ingenious man. He used to exhibit wonderfulwaterworks in London; and in his house, down in Essex, he used toastonish his friends, and frighten them sometimes, with his queercontrivances. He had invented an easy chair which laid hold of anyonethat sat down in it, and held him prisoner until Mr Winstanley set himfree. He made a slipper also, and laid it on his bedroom floor, andwhen anyone put his foot into it he touched a spring that caused a ghostto rise from the hearth. He made a summer house, too, at the foot ofhis garden, on the edge of a canal, and if anyone entered into it andsat down, he very soon found himself adrift on the canal.

  "Such a man was thought to be the best for such a difficult work as thebuilding of a lighthouse on the Eddystone, so he was asked to undertakeit, and agreed, and began it well. He finished it, too, in four years,his chief difficulty being the distance of the rock from land, and thedanger of goin' backwards and forwards. The light was first shown onthe 14th November, 1698. Before this the engineer had resolved to passa night in the building, which he did with a party of men; but he wascompelled to pass more than a night, for it came on to blow furiously,and they were kept prisoners for eleven days, drenched with spray allt
he time, and hard up for provisions.

  "It was said the sprays rose a hundred feet above the lantern of thisfirst Eddystone Lighthouse. Well, it stood till the year 1703, whenrepairs became necessary, and Mr Winstanley went down to Plymouth tosuperintend. It had been prophesied that this lighthouse wouldcertainly be carried away. But dismal prophecies are always made aboutunusual things. If men were to mind prophecies there would be preciouslittle done in this world. Howsever, the prophecies unfortunately cametrue. Winstanley's friends advised him not to go to stay in it, but hewas so confident of the strength of his work that he said he only wishedto have the chance o' bein' there in the greatest storm that ever blew,that he might see what effect it would have on the buildin'. Poor man!he had his wish. On the night of the 26th November a terrible stormarose, the worst that had been for many years, and swept the lighthouseentirely away. Not a vestige of it or the people on it was ever seenafterwards. Only a few bits of the iron fastenings were left fixed inthe rocks."

  "That was terrible," said Forsyth, whose uneasiness was evidentlyincreasing with the rising storm.

  "Ay, but the worst of it was," continued Bremner, "that, owing to theabsence of the light, a large East Indiaman went on the rocksimmediately after, and became a total wreck. This, however, set theTrinity House on putting up another, which was begun in 1706, and thelight shown in 1708. This tower was ninety-two feet high, built partlyof wood and partly of stone. It was a strong building, and stood forforty-nine years. Mayhap it would have been standin' to this day butfor an accident, which you shall hear of before I have done. While thislighthouse was building, a French privateer carried off all the workmenprisoners to France, but they were set at liberty by the King, becausetheir work was of such great use to all nations.

  "The lighthouse, when finished, was put in charge of two keepers, withinstructions to hoist a flag when anything was wanted from the shore.One of these men became suddenly ill, and died. Of course his comradehoisted the signal, but the weather was so bad that it was foundimpossible to send a boat off for four weeks. The poor keeper was soafraid that people might suppose he had murdered his companion that hekept the corpse beside him all that time. What his feelin's could havebeen I don't know, but they must have been awful; for, besides thehorror of such a position in such a lonesome place, the body decayed toan extent--"

  "That'll do, lad; don't be too partickler," said Jamie Dove.

  The others gave a sigh of relief at the interruption, and Bremnercontinued--

  "There were always _three_ keepers in the Eddystone after that. Well,it was in the year 1755, on the 2nd December, that one o' the keeperswent to snuff the candles, for they only burned candles in thelighthouses at that time, and before that time great open grates withcoal fires were the most common; but there were not many lights eitherof one kind or another in those days. On gettin' up to the lantern hefound it was on fire. All the efforts they made failed to put it out,and it was soon burned down. Boats put off to them, but they onlysucceeded in saving the keepers; and of them, one went mad on reachingthe shore, and ran off, and never was heard of again; and another, anold man, died from the effects of melted lead which had run down histhroat from the roof of the burning lighthouse. They did not believehim when he said he had swallowed lead, but after he died it was foundto be a fact.

  "The tower became red-hot, and burned for five days before it wasutterly destroyed. This was the end o' the second Eddystone. Itsbuilder was a Mr John Rudyerd, a silk mercer of London.

  "The third Eddystone, which has now stood for half a century as firm asthe rock itself, and which bids fair to stand till the end of time, wasbegun in 1756 and completed in 1759. It was lighted by means oftwenty-four candles. Of Mr Smeaton, the engineer who built it, thosewho knew him best said that `he had never undertaken anything withoutcompleting it to the satisfaction of his employers.'

  "D'ye know, lads," continued Bremner in a half-musing tone, "I'vesometimes been led to couple this character of Smeaton with the textthat he put round the top of the first room of the lighthouse--`Exceptthe Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it;' and alsothe words, `Praise God,' which he cut in Latin on the last stone, thelintel of the lantern door. I think these words had somethin' to dowith the success of the last Eddystone Lighthouse."

  "I agree with you," said Robert Selkirk, with a nod of hearty approval;"and, moreover, I think the Bell Rock Lighthouse stands a good chance ofequal success, for whether he means to carve texts on the stones or notI don't know, but I feel assured that _our_ engineer is animated by thesame spirit."

  When Bremner's account of the Eddystone came to a close, most of the menhad finished their third or fourth pipes, yet no one proposed going torest.

  The storm without raged so furiously that they felt a strongdisinclination to separate. At last, however, Peter Logan rose, andsaid he would turn in for a little. Two or three of the others alsorose, and were about to ascend to their barrack, when a heavy sea struckthe building, causing it to quiver to its foundation.