When all the iron branches were thus made fast in the solid rock, Rudyerd proceeded to fix a course of squared oak timbers lengthwise upon the lowest step, so as to reach to the level of the step above. Another set of timbers were then laid crosswise, so as to cover those already laid down, and also to carry the level surface to the height of the third step. The third stratum was again laid lengthwise, the fourth crosswise, &c., until a basement of solid wood was raised, two complete courses higher than the highest part of the rock; the whole being fitted together, and to the rock (by means of the branches) as closely as possible; while all the timbers, in their intersections with each other, were trenailed together.
The branches originally let into the solid rock were perforated in their upper parts, some with three and some with four holes, so that in every pair (collectively called a branch) there would be about seven holes; and as there were at least thirty-six original branches, there would be two hundred and fifty-two holes, which were about seven-eighths of an inch in diameter; and consequently were capable of receiving as many large bearded spikes or jag-bolts, which being driven through the branches into the solid timber held the mass firmly down; while a great multiplicity of trenails in the intersections confined the strata closely and compactly together.
In this way, by fixing layer upon layer of solid squared oak-timber of the best quality, Rudyerd was enabled to make a solid basement of the required height; but in addition to this he judiciously acted upon the principle that weight is most naturally and effectually resisted by weight. He considered that all the joints of these timbers were pervious to water, and that it was not possible that every portion of the ground layer should be precisely and entirely in contact with the rock; and he was well aware that where the contact was not perfect, so as to exclude the water therefrom, though the separation was only of the thickness of writing-paper, yet the action of a wave upon it edgewise would produce an equal effect towards lifting it upwards, as if it acted immediately upon so much area of the bottom as was not in close contact. To counteract therefore every tendency of the seas to move the building in any direction, he interposed strata of Cornish Granite. Thus the foundation was of oak as far as two courses above the top of the rock, then five courses of stone were added, of a foot each in thickness, and these were kept together and secured by cramps of iron. Two more courses of timber then followed, and thus was finished the entire solid portion of the basement.
Rudyerd’s lighthouse was begun in July 1706, and completely finished in 1709. The entry door was full eight feet above the highest part of the rock, and therefore an iron ladder of great strength was employed as the mode of ascent. The floor of the store-room was laid at the height of twenty-seven feet above the rock. Four rooms, one above another, and the lantern, with its balcony, completed the edifice. The main column of the building consisted of one simple figure, being an elegant frustum of a cone, unbroken by any projecting ornament, or any thing whereon the violence of the storms could lay hold, being, exclusive of its sloping foundation, twenty-two feet eight inches upon its largest circular base; sixty-one feet high above that circular base; and fourteen feet three inches in diameter at the top. The whole edifice, with the exception of the courses of granite at the base, which may be regarded as ballast, was composed of timber, skilfully joined and fitted, and exhibiting an excellent specimen of shipwrights’ work. All the window-shutters, doors, &c. were so formed as when shut to fall in with the general surface, without making any unevenness or projection. The only projecting parts in the whole building were a simple cornice nine inches wide, for the protection of the windows of the lantern, which could not of course be defended by shutters, and another cornice of similar width at the base, which filled up the angle between the upright timbers of the building and the sloping surface of the rock. The lantern was an octagon of ten feet six inches in diameter, externally, and above it, was a ball of two feet three inches diameter. The whole height of the lighthouse, from the lowest side to the top of the ball, was ninety-two feet.
Rudyerd’s lighthouse stood in need of no material repairs for some years; but at length the upright timbers were considerably damaged by the attacks of a small worm, and were consequently subject to extensive reparation. For many years after the establishment of the lighthouse, it was attended by two light-keepers only, whose duty it was to keep the windows of the lantern clean, and to watch four hours alternately, for the purpose of snuffing and renewing the candles. Each at the conclusion of his watch took care to call the other, and see him on duty before he retired. The duties of the lighthouse did not actually require more than two men for this service; but a painful incident which occurred at the period we are referring to, caused a change in this respect. One of the two light-keepers was taken suddenly ill, and died; and the survivor had no means of making any one acquainted with the circumstance. The signal, when anything was wanted by the light-keepers, was to hoist a large flag upon a flag-staff from the balcony rails, so as to be fully extended in the wind, clear of the building. This flag-staff could be seen in moderate weather from the heights about Ram-head; and that it might never be hung out in vain, a reward of half a guinea was given to the first person who brought tidings of the fact to the agent at Plymouth; and this agent immediately sent out a boat, to land at the rock (if possible), and ascertain what was wanted. The remaining light-keeper, on this occasion, hoisted the accustomed signal, which was also observed on shore; but so boisterous was the weather, that, for a long time, it was impossible for a boat to approach within speaking distance of the rocks. During this period, the living man found himself in a most awful and distressing situation: he knew not how to dispose of the corpse; for if he threw it into the waves, which was his only means of getting rid of it, he feared that he might be charged with the murder of his companion; and yet each day that it remained, it was endangering his own life, by the extremely offensive condition to which it was reduced. When, at last, the people from the boat effected a landing, they found the whole building filled with the most insufferable odour, and the dead body in such a state that it was impossible to remove it to Plymouth for interment: they therefore consigned it to the sea; but it was a long time before the rooms could be purified or made healthful.
This circumstance induced the proprietors of the lighthouse to employ a third man; so that, in case of a future accident of the same nature, or the sickness of either, there might be constantly one to supply the place. This regulation afforded a seasonable relief to the light-keepers; for as soon as three were appointed to the service, a rule was made that in summer each man in his turn should be permitted to go on shore, and spend a month with his friends and acquaintance.
That a residence in the lighthouse, solitary and desolate as it must have been, was considered no hardship by those who undertook the office, the following anecdote will prove. A skipper was once carrying out in his boat a new light-keeper to the rock. The man had been a shoemaker, and the skipper said to him, ‘Friend Jacob, how is it that you choose to go out to be a light-keeper, when you can earn, as I have been told, half-a-crown or three shillings a day on shore, by making leathern hose,—the light-keeper’s salary is but twenty-five pounds a year, which, you know, is scarce ten shillings a week?’ ‘I am going to be a light-keeper,’ said the shoemaker, ‘because I don’t like confinement.’ This answer naturally excited the skipper’s merriment, and the shoemaker explained his meaning to be that he did not like to be confined to work.
These dwellers on the rock were cut off from all communication with their fellow-creatures for weeks and months together during stormy weather; and it might naturally be expected that under these circumstances they should be bound to each other by ties of brotherly feeling and goodwill. But dissension and strife are not shut out from the human bosom by mere retirement from the busy scenes of life. When only two light-keepers inhabited the building, it happened that some visitors, who had repaired thither to gratify their curiosity by an examination of the lighthouse, observed to one of the men, how very comfortably they might live there in a state of retirement. ‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘we might live comfortably enough, if we could have the use of our tongues; but it is now a full month since my partner and I have spoken to each other.’
Connected with Rudyerd’s lighthouse an anecdote is told of Louis XIV. which is honourable to his feelings. During the progress of the work at the Eddystone rocks, a French privateer seized the men employed on the building, and took them, together with their tools, to France, expecting to be handsomely rewarded. While the captives lay in prison, the transaction reached the ears of the monarch. He immediately ordered them to be released, and the captors put in their place, declaring, that though he was at war with England, he was not at war with mankind. He observed that the Eddystone lighthouse was so situated as to be of equal service to all nations having occasion to navigate the channel that divides France from England, and he therefore directed the men to be sent back to their work with presents.
The value of the principles on which Rudyerd had conducted his work was abundantly proved by the fact, that his lighthouse continued to brave the force of the storms for upwards of forty-six years, and at the end of that period was destroyed, not by water, but by fire. This sad calamity happened on the 2nd of December, 1755. It has never been possible fully to investigate the cause of the building taking fire, but it appears to have commenced in the very top of the lantern or cupola. As the whole building was of wood, it is possible that the heat of the candles in the lantern, continued during the long period of between forty and fifty years, might have brought the thin boards which lined the cupola to such a state of dryness and inflammability, that, together with the soot which encrusted it, and which was formed from the smoke of the candles, it might have been as liable to take fire as a mass of tinder, and a single spark from one of the candles would be sufficient to effect the mischief. The light-keepers themselves attributed the fire to the copper funnel of the kitchen chimney which passed through the cupola. However this might be, the three light-keepers alone remained in the edifice, and when one of them, whose turn it was to watch, went into the lantern at about two o’clock in the morning to snuff the candles he found a dense smoke, and upon his opening the door of the lantern into the balcony, a flame instantly burst from the inside of the cupola. The man alarmed his companions, and they used their utmost endeavours to extinguish the fire, but on account of the difficulty of getting a sufficient supply of water to the top of the building, they soon found their efforts vain, and were obliged to retreat downwards from room to room as the fire gathered strength. Early in the morning the fire was perceived by some fishermen, and intelligence being given, a boat and men were sent out to the relief of the poor light-keepers. The boat reached the place at ten o’clock, after the fire had been burning eight hours. The light-keepers had been driven not only from all the rooms and the staircase, but to avoid the red hot timber, and the falling of the bolts upon them, they had been forced to creep into a hole or cave on the east side of the rock, where they were found almost in a state of stupefaction. There was great difficulty in getting them off the rock, for the surf was too high to enable the boat to effect a landing; but the men themselves becoming conscious of their perilous situation, and of the efforts that were being made to save them, adopted the only means of escape which now remained. By great efforts, a small boat had been got near enough to throw a coil of rope upon a projection of the rock, and the sufferers had sufficient remaining energy to lay hold of it, and one by one to fasten it round their bodies and jump into the sea. Thus they were towed into the small boat, and thence delivered to the large one, which returned with them to Plymouth. No sooner, however, were they set on shore than one of them made off, and was never afterwards heard of. This suspicious circumstance would naturally induce the idea that the man had himself originated the conflagration; but the fact of its being a lighthouse with no means of retreat for the inmates, and every reason to believe that they must perish with the building, is much opposed to this idea. In giving an account of this circumstance, Smeaton says, ‘I would rather impute his sudden flight to that kind of panic which sometimes, on important occasions, seizes weak minds; making them act without reason, and in so doing commit actions whose tendency is the very reverse of what they desire.’