The largest and highest of the Eddystone rocks is now called the House-rock, because every building which has been attempted has had its foundation there; but even on this the most favourable spot for such efforts, there is a peculiar difficulty, arising out of its shape and position. There is a sudden drop in the surface of the rock, forming a step of about four and a half or five feet high, the upper part somewhat over-hanging the perpendicular, so that the seas, which in moderate weather come swelling towards that step, meet so sudden a check thereby that they frequently fly to the height of thirty or forty feet. This proved a great interruption to the works during the building of the lighthouse, for the water coming down from this height on the area of the building completely wetted the work-people, and either suspended their employment or caused them to execute it in a very uncomfortable situation. This is not the case at all times, but only when the ground-swell comes in from the bay, which, however, is constant during south-westerly winds, and for some time after they have subsided.
It would appear that the many fatal accidents which occurred to homeward-bound ships had long made it much desired, as it was highly necessary, that some beacon should be erected on the Eddystone rocks. The formidable nature of the undertaking, and the almost insuperable difficulties connected with it, may be supposed to have long repressed the ardour of the zealous and the humane; but at length, in the year 1696, a person was found hardy enough to undertake the task, and he was soon invested with the necessary powers to put it in execution.
This person was Mr. Henry Winstanley, of Littlebury, Essex, whose mechanical abilities had previously been known rather by a series of eccentric contrivances than by any remarkable proof of skill. For instance:—in his house at Littlebury, if a visitor entered an apartment and saw an old slipper lying on the floor, and very naturally proceeded to kick it aside with his foot, a ghost-like figure would immediately start up before him, and if he retreated from it and took his seat in a chair, a couple of arms would immediately clasp him in, so that it would be impossible to disengage himself without the assistance of an attendant.
These unpleasant jokes were not confined to the house; for if the unfortunate guest took refuge in the garden, and unwittingly entered the summer-house by the side of the canal, immediately he was sent out afloat to the middle of the water, and could not possibly make his escape without the intervention of the manager. These tricks were apparently played for mere amusement; but Mr. Winstanley at one time turned his mechanical contrivances to account, by establishing an exhibition at Hyde-Park Corner, called ‘Winstanley’s Water-Works,’ the price of admission being one shilling each person.
Unimportant as these particulars may appear, they serve to mark the turn of mind of the first engineer of the Eddystone, and to account in some degree for the whimsical nature of the buildings erected by him.
From Winstanley’s own narrative, we find that he began his lighthouse in 1696, and that it took more than four years in building, both on account of the greatness of the work, and the difficulty and danger of getting backwards and forwards to the place. Though nothing was attempted except in the summer season, yet even then, the weather at times would prove so unfavourable that for ten or fourteen days together, owing to the ground-swell from the main ocean, the sea would be raging about these rocks, while calm elsewhere, and fly up more than two hundred feet, burying all the works, and making it impossible for the engineer to approach.
The first summer was spent in making twelve holes in the rock, and fastening twelve large irons to hold the work that was to be done afterwards. It appears that Winstanley and his party made single journies every time from Plymouth, and had not any store-ship lying at moorings as a place of constant retreat. This was a great oversight, and unnecessarily retarded his work. Many journies were taken in vain, when no landing could be effected, and during the work the hours of labour were needlessly curtailed by preparations for the safety of the materials during their absence, and also for their own departure.
The second summer was employed in making a solid round pillar, twelve feet high and fourteen in diameter. This was an important step: the workmen had now some small shelter, and something to hold by. The season also proved rather more favourable than the preceding; but the labour of conveying materials, and making them secure, or returning them to the boats every night when they left work, was very great.
During the third year, this pillar was made good at the foundation from the rock to sixteen feet in diameter, and the edifice was raised to the height of eighty feet. ‘Being all finished,’ says the engineer, ‘with the lantern, and all the rooms that were in it, we ventured to lodge there soon after Midsummer, for the greater dispatch of the work. But the first night the weather came bad, and so continued, that it was eleven days before any boats could come near us again; and not being acquainted with the height of the sea’s rising, we were almost drowned with wet, and our provisions in as bad a condition, though we worked night and day as much as possible to make shelter for ourselves. In this storm we lost some of our materials, although we did what we could to save them; but the boat then returning, we all left the house to be refreshed on shore: and as soon as the weather did permit we returned and finished all, and put up the light on the 14th November 1698; which being so late in the year, it was three days before Christmas before we had relief to go on shore again, and were almost at the last extremity for want of provisions; but by good Providence, then two boats came with provisions and the family that was to take care of the light, and so ended this year’s work.’
The fourth year was spent in strengthening and enlarging the structure. The sea had considerably damaged the building during the winter, and at times the lantern was so completely buried beneath the waves, that it was thought expedient to raise the height of the edifice. Early in the spring the building was encompassed with a new work of four feet thickness from the foundation, and all was made solid nearly twenty feet high. The upper part of the building was taken down, and every part was enlarged in its proportion. The height was increased forty feet; and yet the sea, in stormy weather, flew, to all appearance, one hundred feet above the vane. Mr. Winstanley has left no description of this structure; but a print, from a drawing said to have been made on the spot, was extant in Smeaton’s time, so that he describes it as consisting of a store-room, with a projecting cabin to the south-east, a kitchen, a state-room, a lodging-room, an open gallery or platform, an attending or look-out room, and a lantern for the lights surrounded by a gallery or balcony[3].