The Lighthouse by Robert Ballantyne

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

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

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

"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
keepers went to snuff the candles, for they only burned candles in
the lighthouses at that time, and before that time great open grates
with coal fires were the most common; but there were not many lights
either of one kind or another in those days. On gettin' up to the
lantern he found 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 only succeeded in saving the keepers; and of them, one went mad
on reaching the shore, and ran off, and never was heard of again; and
another, an old man, died from the effects of melted lead which had
run down his throat from the roof of the burning lighthouse. They did
not believe him when he said he had swallowed lead, but after he died
it was found to be a fact.

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

"The third Eddystone, which has now stood for half a century as firm
as the rock itself, and which bids fair to stand till the end of
time, was begun in 1756 and completed in 1759. It was lighted by
means of twenty-four candles. Of Mr. Smeaton, the engineer who built
it, those who knew him best said that 'he had never undertaken
anything without completing it to the satisfaction of his
employers'.

"D'ye know, lads," continued Bremner in a half-musing tone, "I've
sometimes been led to couple this character of Smeaton with the text
that he put round the top of the first room of the
lighthouse--'Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain
that build it'; and also the words, 'Praise God', which he cut in
Latin on the last stone, the lintel of the lantern door. I think
these words had somethin' to do with 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 of equal success, for whether he means to carve texts on
the stones or not I don't know, but I feel assured that _our_
engineer is animated by the same spirit."

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

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

CHAPTER XXIII

THE STORM

"'Tis a fearful night," said Logan, pausing with his foot on the
first step of the ladder. "Perhaps we had better sit up."

"What's the use?" said O'Connor, who was by nature reckless. "Av the
beacon howlds on, we may as well slape as not; an' if it don't howld
on, why, we'll be none the worse o' slapin' anyhow."

"_I_ mean to sit up," said Forsyth, whose alarm was aggravated by
another fit of violent toothache.

"So do I," exclaimed several of the men, as another wave dashed
against the beacon, and a quantity of spray came pouring down from
the rooms above.

This latter incident put an end to further conversation. While some
sprang up the ladder to see where the leak had occurred, Ruby opened
the door, which was on the lee side of the building, and descended to
the mortar-gallery to look after his tools, which lay there.

Here he was exposed to the full violence of the gale, for, as we have
said, this first floor of the beacon was not protected by sides.
There was sufficient light to enable him to see all round for a
considerable distance. The sight was not calculated to comfort him.

The wind was whistling with what may be termed a vicious sound among
the beams, to one of which Ruby was obliged to cling to prevent his
being carried away. The sea was bursting, leaping, and curling wildly
over the rocks, which were now quite covered, and as he looked down
through the chinks in the boards of the floor, he could see the foam
whirling round the beams of his trembling abode, and leaping up as if
to seize him. As the tide rose higher and higher, the waves roared
straight through below the floor, their curling backs rising terribly
near to where he stood, and the sprays drenching him and the whole
edifice completely.

As he gazed into the dark distance, where the turmoil of waters
seemed to glimmer with ghostly light against a sky of the deepest
black, he missed the light of the _Smeaton_, which, up to that time,
had been moored as near to the lee of the rock as was consistent with
safety. He fancied she must have gone down, and it was not till next
day that the people on the beacon knew that she had parted her
cables, and had been obliged to make for the Firth of Forth for
shelter from the storm.

While he stood looking anxiously in the direction of the tender, a
wave came so near to the platform that he almost involuntarily leaped
up the ladder for safety. It broke before reaching the beacon, and
the spray dashed right over it, carrying away several of the smith's
tools.

"Ho, boys! lend a hand here, some of you," shouted Ruby, as he leaped
down on the mortar-gallery again.

Jamie Dove, Bremner, O'Connor, and several others were at his side in
a moment, and, in the midst of tremendous sprays, they toiled to
secure the movable articles that lay there. These were passed up to
the sheltered parts of the house; but not without great danger to all
who stood on the exposed gallery below.

Presently two of the planks were torn up by a sea, and several bags
of coal, a barrel of small beer, and a few casks containing lime and
sand, were all swept away. The men would certainly have shared the
fate of these, had they not clung to the beams until the sea had
passed.

As nothing remained after that which could be removed to the room
above, they left the mortar-gallery to its fate, and returned to the
kitchen, where they were met by the anxious glances and questions of
their comrades.

The fire, meanwhile, could scarcely be got to burn, and the whole
place was full of smoke, besides being wet with the sprays that burst
over the roof, and found out all the crevices that had not been
sufficiently stopped up. Attending to these leaks occupied most of
the men at intervals during the night. Ruby and his friend the smith
spent much of the time in the doorway, contemplating the gradual
destruction of their workshop.

For some time the gale remained steady, and the anxiety of the men
began to subside a little, as they became accustomed to the ugly
twisting of the great beams, and found that no evil consequences
followed.

In the midst of this confusion, poor Forsyth's anxiety of mind became
as nothing compared with the agony of his toothache!

Bremner had already made several attempts to persuade the miserable
man to have it drawn, but without success.

"I could do it quite easy," said he, "only let me get a hold of it,
an' before you could wink I'd have it out."

"Well, you may try," cried Forsyth in desperation, with a face of
ashy paleness.

It was an awful situation truly. In danger of his life; suffering the
agonies of toothache, and with the prospect of torments unbearable
from an inexpert hand; for Forsyth did not believe in Bremner's
boasted powers.

"What'll you do it with?" he enquired meekly. "Jamie Dove's small
pincers. Here they are," said Bremner, moving about actively in his
preparations, as if he enjoyed such work uncommonly.

By this time the men had assembled round the pair, and almost forgot
the storm in the interest of the moment.

"Hold him, two of you," said Bremner, when his victim was seated
submissively on a cask.

"You don't need to hold me," said Forsyth, in a gentle tone.

"Don't we!" said Bremner. "Here, Dove, Ned, grip his arms, and some
of you stand by to catch his legs; but you needn't touch them unless
he kicks. Ruby, you're a strong fellow; hold his head."

The men obeyed. At that moment Forsyth would have parted with his
dearest hopes in life to have escaped, and the toothache, strange to
say, left him entirely; but he was a plucky fellow at bottom; having
agreed to have it done, he would not draw back.

Bremner introduced the pincers slowly, being anxious to get a good
hold of the tooth. Forsyth uttered a groan in anticipation! Alarmed
lest he should struggle too soon, Bremner made a sudden grasp and
caught the tooth. A wrench followed; a yell was the result, and the
pincers slipped! This was fortunate, for he had caught the wrong
tooth.

"Now be aisy, boy," said Ned O'Connor, whose sympathies were easily
roused.

"Once more," said Bremner, as the unhappy man opened his mouth. "Be
still, and it will be all the sooner over."

Again Bremner inserted the instrument, and fortunately caught the
right tooth. He gave a terrible tug, that produced its corresponding
howl; but the tooth held on. Again! again! again! and the beacon
house resounded with the deadly yells of the unhappy man, who
struggled violently, despite the strength of those who held him.

"Och! poor sowl!" ejaculated O'Connor.

Bremner threw all his strength into a final wrench, which tore away
the pincers and left the tooth as firm as ever!

Forsyth leaped up and dashed his comrades right and left.

"That'll do," he roared, and darted up the ladder into the apartment
above, through which he ascended to the barrack-room, and flung
himself on his bed. At the same time a wave burst on the beacon with
such force that every man there, except Forsyth, thought it would be
carried away. The wave not only sprang up against the house, but the
spray, scarcely less solid than the wave, went quite over it, and
sent down showers of water on the men below.

Little cared Forsyth for that. He lay almost stunned on his couch,
quite regardless of the storm. To his surprise, however, the
toothache did not return. Nay, to make a long story short, it never
again returned to that tooth till the end of his days!

The storm now blew its fiercest, and the men sat in silence in the
kitchen listening to the turmoil, and to the thundering blows given
by the sea to their wooden house. Suddenly the beacon received a
shock so awful, and so thoroughly different from any that it had
previously received, that the men sprang to their feet in
consternation.

Ruby and the smith were looking out at the doorway at the time, and
both instinctively grasped the woodwork near them, expecting every
instant that the whole structure would be carried away; but it stood
fast. They speculated a good deal on the force of the blow they had
received, but no one hit on the true cause; and it was not until some
days later that they discovered that a huge rock of fully a ton
weight had been washed against the beams that night.

While they were gazing at the wild storm, a wave broke up the
mortar-gallery altogether, and sent its remaining contents into the
sea. All disappeared in a moment; nothing was left save the powerful
beams to which the platform had been nailed.

There was a small boat attached to the beacon. It hung from two
davits, on a level with the kitchen, about thirty feet above the
rock. This had got filled by the sprays, and the weight of water
proving too much for the tackling, it gave way at the bow shortly
after the destruction of the mortar-gallery, and the boat hung
suspended by the stern-tackle. Here it swung for a few minutes, and
then was carried away by a sea. The same sea sent an eddy of foam
round towards the door and drenched the kitchen, so that the door had
to be shut, and as the fire had gone out, the men had to sit and
await their fate by the light of a little oil-lamp.

They sat in silence, for the noise was now so great that it was
difficult to hear voices, unless when they were raised to a high
pitch.

Thus passed that terrible night; and the looks of the men, the solemn
glances, the closed eyes, the silently moving lips, showed that their
thoughts were busy reviewing bygone days and deeds; perchance in
making good resolutions for the future--"if spared!"

Morning brought a change. The rush of the sea was indeed still
tremendous, but the force of the gale was broken and the danger was
past.

CHAPTER XXIV

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

Time rolled on, and the lighthouse at length began to grow.

It did not rise slowly, as does an ordinary building. The courses of
masonry having been formed and fitted on shore during the winter, had
only to be removed from the work-yard at Arbroath to the rock, where
they were laid, mortared, wedged, and trenailed, as fast as they
could be landed.

Thus, foot by foot it grew, and soon began to tower above its
foundation.

From the foundation upwards for thirty feet it was built solid. From
this point rose the spiral staircase leading to the rooms above. We
cannot afford space to trace its erection step by step, neither is it
desirable that we should do so. But it is proper to mention, that
there were, as might be supposed, leading points in the
process--eras, as it were, in the building operations.

The first of these, of course, was the laying of the foundation
stone, which was done ceremoniously, with all the honours. The next
point was the occasion when the tower showed itself for the first
time above water at full tide. This was a great event. It was proof
positive that the sea had been conquered; for many a time before that
event happened had the sea done its best to level the whole erection
with the rock.

Three cheers announced and celebrated the fact, and a "glass" all
round stamped it on the memories of the men.

Another noteworthy point was the connexion--the marriage, if the
simile may be allowed--of the tower and the beacon. This occurred
when the former rose to a few feet above high-water mark, and was
effected by means of a rope-bridge, which was dignified by the
sailors with the name of "Jacob's ladder".

Heretofore the beacon and lighthouse had stood in close relation to
each other. They were thenceforward united by a stronger tie; and it
is worthy of record that their attachment lasted until the
destruction of the beacon after the work was done. Jacob's ladder was
fastened a little below the doorway of the beacon. Its other end
rested on, and rose with, the wall of the tower. At first it sloped
downward from beacon to tower; gradually it became horizontal; then
it sloped upward. When this happened it was removed, and replaced by
a regular wooden bridge, which extended from the doorway of the one
structure to that of the other.

Along this way the men could pass to and fro at all tides, and during
any time of the day or night.

This was a matter of great importance, as the men were no longer so
dependent on tides as they had been, and could often work as long as
their strength held out.

Although the work was regular, and, as some might imagine, rather
monotonous, there were not wanting accidents and incidents to enliven
the routine of daily duty. The landing of the boats in rough weather
with stones, &c., was a never-failing source of anxiety, alarm, and
occasionally amusement. Strangers sometimes visited the rock, too,
but these visits were few and far between.

Accidents were much less frequent, however, than might have been
expected in a work of the kind. It was quite an event, something to
talk about for days afterwards, when poor John Bonnyman, one of the
masons, lost a finger. The balance crane was the cause of this
accident. We may remark, in passing, that this balance crane was a
very peculiar and clever contrivance, which deserves a little notice.

It may not have occurred to readers who are unacquainted with
mechanics that the raising of ponderous stones to a great height is
not an easy matter. As long as the lighthouse was low, cranes were
easily raised on the rock, but when it became too high for the cranes
to reach their heads up to the top of the tower, what was to be done?
Block-tackles could not be fastened to the skies! Scaffolding in such
a situation would not have survived a moderate gale.

In these circumstances Mr. Stevenson constructed a _balance_ crane,
which was fixed in the centre of the tower, and so arranged that it
could be raised along with the rising works. This crane resembled a
cross in form. At one arm was hung a movable weight, which could be
run out to its extremity, or fixed at any part of it. The other arm
was the one by means of which the stones were hoisted. When a stone
had to be raised; its weight was ascertained, and the movable weight
was so fixed as _exactly_ to counterbalance it. By this simple
contrivance all the cumbrous and troublesome machinery of long guys
and bracing-chains extending from the crane to the rock below were
avoided.

Well, Bonnyman was attending to the working of the crane, and
directing the lowering of a stone into its place, when he
inadvertently laid his left hand on a part of the machinery where it
was brought into contact with the chain, which passed over his
forefinger, and cut it so nearly off that it was left hanging by a
mere shred of skin. The poor man was at once sent off in a fast
rowing boat to Arbroath, where the finger was removed and properly
dressed.[1]

[Footnote 1: It is right to state that this man afterwards obtained a
lightkeeper's situation from the Board of Commissioners of Northern
Lights, who seem to hare taken a kindly interest in all their
servants, especially those of them who had suffered in the service.]

A much more serious accident occurred at another time, however, which
resulted in the death of one of the seamen belonging to the
_Smeaton_.

It happened thus. The _Smeaton_ had been sent from Arbroath with a
cargo of stones one morning, and reached the rock about half-past six
o'clock A.M. The mate and one of the men, James Scott, a youth of
eighteen years of age, got into the sloop's boat to make fast the
hawser to the floating buoy of her moorings.

The tides at the time were very strong, and the mooring-chain when
sweeping the ground had caught hold of a rock or piece of wreck, by
which the chain was so shortened, that when the tide flowed the buoy
got almost under water, and little more than the ring appeared at the
surface. When the mate and Scott were in the act of making the hawser
fast to the ring, the chain got suddenly disentangled at the bottom,
and the large buoy, measuring about seven feet in length by three in
diameter in the middle, vaulted upwards with such force that it upset
the boat, which instantly filled with water. The mate with great
difficulty succeeded in getting hold of the gunwale, but Scott seemed
to have been stunned by the buoy, for he lay motionless for a few
minutes on the water, apparently unable to make any exertion to save
himself, for he did not attempt to lay hold of the oars or thwarts
which floated near him.

A boat was at once sent to the rescue, and the mate was picked up,
but Scott sank before it reached the spot.

This poor lad was a great favourite in the service, and for a time
his melancholy end cast a gloom over the little community at the
Bell Rock. The circumstances of the case were also peculiarly
distressing in reference to the boy's mother, for her husband had
been for three years past confined in a French prison, and her son
had been the chief support of the family. In order in some measure to
make up to the poor woman for the loss of the monthly aliment
regularly allowed her by her lost son, it was suggested that a
younger brother of the deceased might be taken into the service. This
appeared to be a rather delicate proposition, but it was left to the
landing-master to arrange according to circumstances. Such was the
resignation, and at the same time the spirit of the poor woman, that
she readily accepted the proposal, and in a few days the younger
Scott was actually afloat in the place of his brother. On this
distressing case being represented to the Board, the Commissioners
granted an annuity of L5 to the lad's mother.

The painter who represents only the sunny side of nature portrays a
one-sided, and therefore a false view of things, for, as everyone
knows, nature is not all sunshine. So, if an author makes his
pen-and-ink pictures represent only the amusing and picturesque view
of things, he does injustice to his subject.

We have no pleasure, good reader, in saddening you by accounts of
"fatal accidents", but we have sought to convey to you a correct
impression of things, and scenes, and incidents at the building of
the Bell Rock Lighthouse, as they actually were, and looked, and
occurred. Although there was much, _very_ much, of risk, exposure,
danger, and trial connected with the erection of that building, there
was, in the good providence of God, very little of severe accident or
death. Yet that little must be told,--at least touched upon,--else
will our picture remain incomplete as well as untrue.

Now, do not imagine, with a shudder, that these remarks are the
prelude to something that will harrow up your feelings. Not so. They
are merely the apology, if apology be needed, for the introduction of
another "accident".

Well, then. One morning the artificers landed on the rock at a
quarter-past six, and as all hands were required for a piece of
special work that day, they breakfasted on the beacon, instead of
returning to the tender, and spent the day on the rock.

The special work referred to was the raising of the crane from the
eighth to the ninth course--an operation which required all the
strength that could be mustered for working the guy-tackles. This, be
it remarked, was before the balance crane, already described, had
been set up; and as the top of the crane stood at the time about
thirty-five feet above the rock, it became much more unmanageable
than heretofore.

At the proper hour all hands were called, and detailed to their
several posts on the tower, and about the rock. In order to give
additional purchase or power in tightening the tackle, one of the
blocks of stone was suspended at the end of the movable beam of the
crane, which, by adding greatly to the weight, tended to slacken the
guys or supporting-ropes in the direction to which the beam with the
stone was pointed, and thereby enabled the men more easily to brace
them one after another.

While the beam was thus loaded, and in the act of swinging round from
one guy to another, a great strain was suddenly brought upon the
opposite tackle, with the end of which the men had very improperly
neglected to take a turn round some stationary object, which would
have given them the complete command of the tackle.

Owing to this simple omission, the crane, with the large stone at the
end of the beam, got a preponderancy to one side, and, the tackle
alluded to having rent, it fell upon the building with a terrible
crash.

The men fled right and left to get out of its way; but one of them,
Michael Wishart, a mason, stumbled over an uncut trenail and rolled
on his back, and the ponderous crane fell upon him. Fortunately it
fell so that his body lay between the great shaft and the movable
beam, and thus he escaped with his life, but his feet were entangled
with the wheel-work, and severely injured.

Wishart was a robust and spirited young fellow, and bore his
sufferings with wonderful firmness while he was being removed. He
was laid upon one of the narrow frame-beds of the beacon, and
despatched in a boat to the tender. On seeing the boat approach with
the poor man stretched on a bed covered with blankets, and his face
overspread with that deadly pallor which is the usual consequence of
excessive bleeding, the seamen's looks betrayed the presence of those
well-known but indescribable sensations which one experiences when
brought suddenly into contact with something horrible. Relief was at
once experienced, however, when Wishart's voice was heard feebly
accosting those who first stepped into the boat.

He was immediately sent on shore, where the best surgical advice was
obtained, and he began to recover steadily, though slowly. Meanwhile,
having been one of the principal masons, Robert Selkirk was appointed
to his vacant post.

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