In 1810 the masonry of the tower was finished and the lantern erected in its place, and the light was exhibited on 1st February 1811. The light is of the description known as revolving red and white, and hence Sir Walter Scott’s “gem of changeful light” (see page [47]).
These weary years of toil and peril were also years of great professional responsibility for the Engineer, and of constant anxiety for the safety of his devoted band of associates, including shipmasters, landing-masters, foremen, and workmen, in all of whom Mr. Stevenson took a cordial and ever friendly interest, and in whom he invariably placed implicit confidence when he found that their several duties were faithfully discharged. To form strong attachments to trustworthy fellow-workmen was ever a marked feature in my father’s character, and after a lapse of nearly half a century many who joined in his labours at the Bell Rock were still associated with him in the business of his office, or as Inspectors of works.
His daily cheerful participation in all the toils and hazards which were, for two seasons, endured in the floating lightship, and afterwards in the timber house or barrack, over which the waves broke with very great force, and caused a most alarming twisting movement of its main supports, were proofs not merely of calm and enduring courage, but of great self-denial and enthusiastic devotion to his calling. On some occasions his fortitude and presence of mind were most severely tried, and well they stood the test.
The record of this great work is, as I have already said, fully given in the “Account of the Bell Rock Lighthouse,” to which I must refer professional readers; but as this volume is out of print, and is not easily accessible, I shall give a few extracts from it, which I feel sure will be read with deep interest, and convey to the reader at least some idea of the difficulties with which this undertaking was beset:—
“Soon after the artificers landed on the rock they commenced work; but the wind coming to blow hard, the Smeaton’s[4] boat and crew, who had brought their complement of eight men to the rock, went off to examine her riding-ropes, and see that they were in proper order. The boat had no sooner reached the vessel than she went adrift, carrying the boat along with her; and both had even got to a considerable distance before this situation of things was observed, every one being so intent upon his own particular duty that the boat had not been seen leaving the rock. As it blew hard, the crew, with much difficulty, set the mainsail upon the Smeaton, with a view to work her up to the buoy, and again lay hold of the moorings. By the time that she was got round to make a tack towards the rock, she had drifted at least three miles to leeward, with the praam boat astern; and having both the wind and tide against her, the writer perceived, with no little anxiety, that she could not possibly return to the rock till long after its being overflowed; for, owing to the anomaly of the tides, formerly noticed, the Bell Rock is completely under water before the ebb abates to the offing.
“In this perilous predicament, indeed, he found himself placed between hope and despair; but certainly the latter was by much the most predominant feeling of his mind,—situate upon a sunken rock, in the middle of the ocean, which, in the progress of the flood-tide, was to be laid under water to the depth of at least twelve feet in a stormy sea. There were this morning in all thirty-two persons on the rock, with only two boats, whose complement, even in good weather, did not exceed twenty-four sitters; but to row to the floating light with so much wind, and in so heavy a sea, a complement of eight men for each boat was as much as could with propriety be attempted, so that in this way about one-half of our number was unprovided for. Under these circumstances, had the writer ventured to despatch one of the boats, in expectation of either working the Smeaton sooner up towards the rock, or in hopes of getting her boat brought to our assistance, this must have given an immediate alarm to the artificers, each of whom would have insisted upon taking to his own boat, and leaving the eight artificers belonging to the Smeaton to their chance. Of course, a scuffle might have ensued, and it is hard to say, in the ardour of men contending for life, where it might have ended. It has even been hinted to the writer that a party of the pickmen were determined to keep exclusively to their own boat against all hazards.
“The unfortunate circumstance of the Smeaton and her boat having drifted was, for a considerable time, only known to the writer, and to the landing-master, who removed to the further point of the rock, where he kept his eye steadily upon the progress of the vessel. While the artificers were at work, chiefly in sitting or kneeling postures, excavating the rock, or boring with the jumpers, and while their numerous hammers, and the sound of the smith’s anvil, continued, the situation of things did not appear so awful. In this state of suspense, with almost certain destruction at hand, the water began to rise upon those who were at work on the lower parts of the sites of the beacon and lighthouse. From the run of sea upon the rock, the forge-fire was also sooner extinguished this morning than usual, and the volumes of smoke having ceased, objects in every direction became visible from all parts of the rock. After having had about three hours’ work, the men began, pretty generally, to make towards their respective boats for their jackets and stockings, when to their astonishment, instead of three they found only two boats, the third being adrift with the Smeaton. Not a word was uttered by any one, but all appeared to be silently calculating their numbers, and looking to each other with evident marks of perplexity depicted in their countenances. The landing-master, conceiving that blame might be attached to him for allowing the boat to leave the rock, still kept at a distance. At this critical moment the author was standing upon an elevated part of Smith’s Ledge, where he endeavoured to mark the progress of the Smeaton, not a little surprised that the crew did not cut the praam adrift, which greatly retarded her way, and amazed that some effort was not making to bring at least the boat, and attempt our relief. The workmen looked steadfastly upon the writer, and turned occasionally towards the vessel, still far to leeward. All this passed in the most perfect silence, and the melancholy solemnity of the group made an impression never to be effaced from his mind.
“The writer had all along been considering various schemes—providing the men could be kept under command—which might be put in practice for the general safety, in hopes that the Smeaton might be able to pick up the boats to leeward, when they were obliged to leave the rock. He was, accordingly, about to address the artificers on the perilous nature of their circumstances, and to propose that all hands should unstrip their upper clothing when the higher parts of the rock were laid under water; that the seamen should remove every unnecessary weight and encumbrance from the boats; that a specified number of men should go into each boat, and that the remainder should hang by the gunwales, while the boats were to be rowed gently towards the Smeaton, as the course to the Pharos or floating light lay rather to windward of the rock. But when he attempted to speak, his mouth was so parched that his tongue refused utterance, and he now learned by experience that the saliva is as necessary as the tongue itself for speech. He then turned to one of the pools on the rock and lapped a little water, which produced an immediate relief. But what was his happiness when, on rising from this unpleasant beverage, some one called out ‘A boat! a boat!’ and on looking around, at no great distance, a large boat was seen through the haze making towards the rock. This at once enlivened and rejoiced every heart. The timeous visitor proved to be James Spink, the Bell Rock pilot, who had come express from Arbroath with letters. Spink had for some time seen the Smeaton, and had even supposed, from the state of the weather, that all hands were on board of her, till he approached more nearly and observed people upon the rock. Upon this fortunate change of circumstances sixteen of the artificers were sent at two trips in one of the boats, with instructions for Spink to proceed with them to the floating light.[5] This being accomplished, the remaining sixteen followed in the two boats belonging to the service of the rock. Every one felt the most perfect happiness at leaving the Bell Rock this morning, though a very hard and even dangerous passage to the floating light still awaited us, as the wind by this time had increased to a pretty hard gale, accompanied with a considerable swell of sea. The boats left the rock about nine, but did not reach the vessel till twelve o’clock noon, after a most disagreeable and fatiguing passage of three hours. Every one was as completely drenched in water as if he had been dragged astern of the boats.”
After this accident difficulty was experienced in getting the men to turn out next morning, as related in the following extract:—
“The bell rung this morning at five o’clock, but the writer must acknowledge, from the circumstances of yesterday, that its sound was extremely unwelcome. This appears also to have been the feeling of the artificers, for when they came to be mustered, out of twenty-six, only eight, besides the foreman and seamen, appeared upon deck, to accompany the writer to the rock. Such are the baneful effects of anything like misfortune or accident connected with a work of this description. The use of argument to persuade the men to embark, in cases of this kind, would have been out of place, as it is not only discomfort, or even the risk of the loss of a limb, but life itself, that becomes the question. The boats, notwithstanding the thinness of our ranks, left the vessel at half-past five. The rough weather of yesterday having proved but a summer’s gale, the wind came to-day in gentle breezes, yet the atmosphere being cloudy, it had not a very favourable appearance. The boats reached the rock at six A.M., and the eight artificers who landed were employed in clearing out the bat-holes for the beacon-house, and had a prosperous tide of four hours’ work, being the longest yet experienced by half an hour.
“The boats left the rock again at ten o’clock, and the weather having cleared up, as we drew near the vessel, the eighteen artificers who remained on board were observed upon deck, but as the boats approached they sought their way below, being quite ashamed of their conduct. This was the only instance of refusal to go to the rock which occurred during the whole progress of the work.”
The state of suffering and discomfort, as well as danger, on board the floating light, which lay moored off the rock during the first two seasons of the work, before the timber beacon was used as a habitation, is described, in the following passage, which presents a striking illustration of the continual anxiety that must have existed in the minds of those engaged in the work, and of the frequent calls for energetic and courageous exertion:—
“Although the weather would have admitted of a landing this evening, yet the swell of the sea, observable in the morning, still continued to increase. It was so far fortunate that a landing was not attempted, for at eight o’clock the wind shifted to E.S.E., and at ten it had become a hard gale, when fifty fathoms of the floating-light’s hempen cable were veered out. The gale still increasing, the ship rolled and laboured excessively, and at midnight eighty fathoms of cable were veered out; while the sea continued to strike the vessel with a degree of force which had not before been experienced.
“During the last night there was little rest on board of the Pharos, and daylight, though anxiously wished for, brought no relief, as the gale continued with unabated violence. The sea struck so hard upon the vessel’s bows that it rose in great quantities, or in ‘green seas’ as the sailors termed it, which were carried by the wind as far aft as the quarter-deck, and not unfrequently over the stern of the ship altogether. It fell occasionally so heavily on the skylight of the writer’s cabin, though so far aft as to be within five feet of the helm, that the glass was broken to pieces before the dead-light could be got into its place, so that the water poured down in great quantities. In shutting out the water, the admission of light was prevented, and in the morning all continued in the most comfortless state of darkness. About ten o’clock A.M. the wind shifted to N.E., and blew, if possible, harder than before, and it was accompanied by a much heavier swell of sea; when it was judged advisable to give the ship more cable. In the course of the gale the part of the cable in the hause-hole had been so often shifted that nearly the whole length of one of her hempen cables, of 120 fathoms, had been veered out besides the chain-moorings. The cable, for its preservation, was also carefully “served” or wattled with pieces of canvas round the windlass, and with leather well greased in the hause-hole. In this state things remained during the whole day,—every sea which struck the vessel—and the seas followed each other in close succession—causing her to shake, and all on board occasionally to tremble. At each of these strokes of the sea the rolling and pitching of the vessel ceased for a time, and her motion was felt as if she had either broke adrift before the wind, or were in the act of sinking; but when another sea came, she ranged up against it with great force, and this became the regular intimation of our being still riding at anchor.
“About eleven o’clock, the writer, with some difficulty, got out of bed, but, in attempting to dress, he was thrown twice upon the floor, at the opposite side of the cabin. In an undressed state he made shift to get about half-way up the companion-stairs, with an intention to observe the state of the sea and of the ship upon deck, but he no sooner looked over the companion than a heavy sea struck the vessel, which fell on the quarter-deck, and rushed down-stairs into the officer’s cabin, in so considerable a quantity that it was found necessary to lift one of the scuttles in the floor to let the water into the limbers of the ship, as it dashed from side to side in such a manner as to run into the lower tier of beds. Having been foiled in this attempt, and being completely wetted, he again got below and went to bed. In this state of the weather the seamen had to move about the necessary or indispensable duties of the ship, with the most cautious use both of hands and feet, while it required all the art of the landsman to keep within the precincts of his bed. The writer even found himself so much tossed about that it became necessary, in some measure, to shut himself in bed, in order to avoid being thrown to the floor. Indeed, such was the motion of the ship, that it seemed wholly impracticable to remain in any other than a lying posture. On deck the most stormy aspect presented itself, while below all was wet and comfortless.
“About two o’clock P.M. a great alarm was given throughout the ship, from the effects of a very heavy sea which struck her, and almost filled the waist, pouring down into the berths below, through every chink and crevice of the hatches and skylights. From the motion of the vessel being thus suddenly deadened or checked, and from the flowing in of the water above, it is believed there was not an individual on board who did not think, at the moment, that the vessel had foundered and was in the act of sinking. The writer could withstand this no longer, and as soon as she again began to range to the sea, he determined to make another effort to get upon deck.
“It being impossible to open any of the hatches in the fore part of the ship in communicating with the deck, the watch was changed by passing through the several berths to the companion-stair leading to the quarter-deck. The writer, therefore, made the best of his way aft, and on a second attempt to look out, he succeeded, and saw indeed an astonishing sight. The seas or waves appeared to be ten or fifteen feet in height of unbroken water, and every approaching billow seemed as if it would overwhelm our vessel, but she continued to rise upon the waves, and to fall between the seas in a very wonderful manner. It seemed to be only those seas which caught her in the act of rising which struck her with so much violence, and threw such quantities of water aft. On deck there was only one solitary individual looking out, to give the alarm in the event of the ship breaking from her moorings. The seaman on watch continued only two hours; he had no greatcoat nor overall of any kind, but was simply dressed in his ordinary jacket and trousers; his hat was tied under his chin with a napkin, and he stood aft the foremast, to which he had lashed himself with a gasket or small rope round his waist, to prevent his falling upon deck or being washed overboard. Upon deck everything that was moveable was out of sight, having either been stowed below previous to the gale, or been washed overboard. Some trifling parts of the quarter-boards were damaged by the breach of the sea, and one of the boats upon deck was about one-third full of water, the oyle-hole or drain having been accidentally stopped up, and part of the gunwale had received considerable injury. Although the previous night had been a very restless one, it had not the effect of inducing sleep in the writer’s berth on the succeeding one; for having been so much tossed about in bed during the last thirty hours, he found no easy spot to turn to, and his body was all sore to the touch, which ill accorded with the unyielding materials with which his bed-place was surrounded.
“This morning about eight o’clock the writer was agreeably surprised to see the scuttle of his cabin skylight removed, and the bright rays of the sun admitted. Although the ship continued to roll excessively, and the sea was still running very high, yet the ordinary business on board seemed to be going forward on deck. It was impossible to steady a telescope so as to look minutely at the progress of the waves, and trace their breach upon the Bell Rock, but the height to which the cross-running waves rose in sprays, when they met each other, was truly grand, and the continued roar and noise of the sea was very perceptible to the ear. To estimate the height of the sprays at forty or fifty feet would surely be within the mark. Those of the workmen who were not much afflicted with sea-sickness came upon deck, and the wetness below being dried up, the cabins were again brought into a habitable state. Every one seemed to meet as if after a long absence, congratulating his neighbour upon the return of good weather. Little could be said as to the comfort of the vessel; but after riding out such a gale, no one felt the least doubt or hesitation as to the safety and good condition of her moorings. The master and mate were extremely anxious, however, to heave in the hempen cable, and see the state of the clinch or iron ring of the chain cable. But the vessel rolled at such a rate that the seamen could not possibly keep their feet at the windlass, nor work the handspokes, though it had been several times attempted since the gale took off.
“About twelve noon, however, the vessel’s motion was observed to be considerably less, and the sailors were enabled to walk upon deck with some degree of freedom. But to the astonishment of every one it was soon discovered that the floating light was adrift! The windlass was instantly manned, and the men soon gave out that there was no strain upon the cable. The mizzen-sail, which was bent for the occasional purpose of making the vessel ride more easily to the tide, was immediately set, and the other sails were also hoisted in a short time, when, in no small consternation, we bore away about one mile to the south-westward of the former station, and there let go the best bower-anchor and cable, in twenty fathoms water, to ride until the swell of the sea should fall, when it might be practicable to grapple for the moorings, and find a better anchorage for the ship.
“As soon as the deck could be cleared the cable end was hove up, which had parted at the distance of about fifty fathoms from the chain moorings. On examining the cable, it was found to be considerably chafed, but where the separation took place, it appeared to be worn through, or cut shortly off. How to account for this would be difficult, as the ground, though rough and gravelly, did not, after much sounding, appear to contain any irregular parts. It was therefore conjectured that the cable must have hooked some piece of wreck, as it did not appear from the state of the wind and tide that the vessel could have fouled her anchor when she veered round with the wind, which had shifted in the course of the night from N.E. to N.N.W.
“Be this as it may, it was a circumstance quite out of the power of man to prevent, as, until the ship drifted, it was found impossible to heave up the cable. But what ought to have been the feeling of thankfulness to that Providence which regulates and appoints the lot of man, when it is considered that if this accident had happened during the storm, or in the night after the wind had shifted, the floating light must inevitably have gone ashore upon the Bell Rock. In short, it is hardly possible to conceive any case more awfully distressing than our situation would have been, or one more disastrous to the important undertaking in which we were engaged.”
The distance at which the floating light was moored from the rock was about three miles, and the passage of the men to and from their work, and boarding the vessel in rough weather, was a source of great anxiety and danger, and is described in the following paragraphs:—