Lightships and Lighthouses

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

By permission of the “Syren and Shipping.”

COMBINED KITCHEN AND LIVING-ROOM IN THE LIGHTHOUSE.

The men on the lonely, exposed Tillamook Rock, off the Oregon coast, have had more than one occasion to respect the storm-fiend. One night, while a fearful gale was raging, a huge mass of rock was torn away from the islet, snatched by the waves, and thrown high into the air. It fell with terrific force upon the dome of the lantern, splintering the roof and smashing the light, so that no welcome rays could be thrown from the tower again that night. The keepers at once set to work with the fog-signal, and during the hours of darkness worked like slaves, blaring out a warning by sound which they were unable to give visually.

Fortunately, such an experience as befell the keepers of the American Thimble Shoal light is very rare. This beacon marks the shoal of that name, and is, or rather was, a screw-pile iron lighthouse, marking 11 feet of water at the entrance to Chesapeake Bay, Virginia, U.S.A. On December 27, 1909, the keepers were immersed in their tasks, when there was a terrible crash followed by a dismal rending and splitting. The building shivered from top to bottom. The keepers were thrown off their feet, and when they regained their wits they found that the schooner Malcolm Baxter Junior, while being towed by a tug, had blundered into them, and had carried a considerable portion of the building away. The impact upset the light; the scattered oil burst into flame, and within a few minutes the lighthouse was blazing like a gigantic bonfire. The keepers stuck to their posts, and endeavoured frantically to extinguish the outbreak, but their efforts were too puny to make any impression. At last, when a foothold was no longer possible with safety, and under extreme pressure, they abandoned their charge. When the flames had completed their destructive work the lighthouse presented a sorry sight, being a mass of broken and twisted ironwork. A wooden tower was erected with all despatch, and a fog-signal was installed, so that the men could carry on their duties while the reconstruction of the station was hurried forward.

The keepers turn their hands to strange occupations. Fretwork, wood-carving, poker-work, and similar hobbies, are practised freely. A few devote their leisure to intellectual improvement to fit them for other walks in life. The keeper of Windward Point, Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, devoted his energies to studying, and obtaining diplomas in, mechano-therapy and suggestive therapeutics, as well as becoming proficient in Esperanto. The keepers of two other American lights set themselves to the mastery of jurisprudence, and in due course resigned their positions and rented offices in the city, where in the course of a few years they built up very remunerative legal practices. As a rule the lighthouse-keeper is an expert handy-man, as he is compelled to complete a whole list of duties in addition to maintaining the lights. In the summer the metal and wooden lights have to be given a coat of paint, while plumbing and other displays of skill in metal have to be carried out, even if only temporarily.

The calling is exceedingly healthy, which accounts for the immunity from illness which these men enjoy. Also, as a rule, the land-lights are set amidst wild romantic surroundings. Some years ago a number of American families, in the search for a quiet, health-restoring rest, were in the habit of spending their vacations at lighthouses, to the financial profit of the keepers. Eventually, however, the authorities, fearing that the keeper might be distracted from his duties, issued a summary order forbidding this practice, much to the disgust of the men, and “attractive lighthouse apartments” became a thing of the past. In Great Britain an order was issued that “no ale or other intoxicating liquor be allowed to be sold in any lighthouse.” The precise reason for this strange ordinance is not quite clear, but it is significant to note that it came into force immediately after the disastrous fire at the Leasowe lighthouse, on the Wirral shore.

The lighthouse invariably is an object of attraction among the general public, but this interest seldom goes to the length narrated by a keeper of one of the West Indian lights. One night two of the men at this particular station decided to hunt for red crabs on the beach below. They started off with a hurricane lamp, but were astonished, when they gained the foreshore, to see a large sloop hard and fast on the reef, although the night was beautifully clear and the light was burning brilliantly. With much effort the keepers got out their dory, put off to the wreck, and endeavoured to get the sloop out of her uncomfortable position, but, finding her too well fixed, took off the passengers. The survivors were housed in the keepers’ quarters until next morning, when they were succoured. The head-keeper asked the captain how he managed to get into such a position, and to his surprise learned that, as the passengers were anxious to obtain a clear close view of the light, the master had stood inshore, not knowing that the reef over which vigil was mounted ran out far into the water. That navigator paid dearly for his attempt to satisfy curiosity. His sloop broke up, since she was impaled too firmly to be salvaged.

It is not often that the utter loneliness and monotony of the daily round unhinges a keeper’s mind, but this awful fate overtook the warden of a somewhat isolated American light. The man had served with Admiral Dewey off Manila, and upon his return home the Government placed him in charge of a station as an occupation for the evening of his life, and as a recompense for faithful service. He settled down with his wife and family, but the isolation soon began to affect his brain. For days he would absent himself from the light, which would soon have failed had it not been for the unswerving devotion of his wife and the assistance of one of two friends living in the locality. They spared no effort to keep the beacon burning, lest the authorities might hear about the keeper’s strange behaviour, and deprive him of his charge, and, incidentally, of his livelihood. In due course the incident did reach the authorities, and, not knowing what was the matter with the man, they took action accordingly. As the keeper entered the station after one of his inexplicable expeditions of a fortnight’s duration, he was arrested for desertion. He was examined promptly by two doctors, who found him hopelessly insane, and was incarcerated in an asylum, where in the course of a few days he became a raving lunatic.

Often the keepers, although only condemned to imprisonment for a certain period at a time, have to tolerate a longer stay, owing to the relief-boat being unable to approach them. In some instances the delay may run into five weeks or more. During the winter the relief of the Eddystone, Longships, Wolf, Fastnet, Skerryvore, and Dhu-Heartach lights is always a matter of extreme uncertainty. Although the men have to provide themselves with supplies, a reserve is maintained at the station by the authorities for such emergencies. Even some of the land stations are not approachable readily. There is the Punta Gorda light-station on the Californian coast, the situation of which is wild and forbidding. There is a landing about eight miles above the station, but it is extremely precarious. Still, unless a certain element of risk is accepted in coming ashore here, it is necessary to face a tramp or stage journey of nearly fifty miles across country in order to gain the lighthouse.