Lightships and Lighthouses

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

Photo, Paul, Penzance.

THE WOLF ROCK LIGHTHOUSE.

One of the famous lights of England. Owing to the rocks being exposed to the full fury of the Atlantic, its erection was attended with prodigious difficulty.

When it was proposed to build a lighthouse upon a crag in the heart of this vortex, many people who knew the neighbourhood shook their heads doubtfully. The ledge was so small, the force of the elements so powerful, that it appeared to be tempting Fate unduly to attempt the erection of a slim stalk of stonework thereon. Some records of the wind pressure exerted during the heaviest tempests were taken, and they showed that the pressure of the wind at times exceeded 7,000 pounds per square foot. It was decided to provide a structure which should offer the minimum of resistance to the waves. This assumed the form of the iron screw-pile tower so common in American waters. The legs were cast-iron tubes sunk into the solid granite, braced and stayed by means of wrought-iron rods. The engineers maintained that the waves would be able to roll unrestrainedly among the piles, instead of being obstructed, so that the skeleton building would escape the heavy buffetings which solid masonry would experience.

But engineering science proved woefully frail when pitted against the unharnessed forces of Nature. A heavy gale sprang up one night; the waves rose and fell upon the stilts, broke them up like reeds, and carried away the whole of the superstructure. The following low-tide revealed only a few short lengths of broken and bent tubes, around which the waves bubbled and hissed as if in triumph at their victory. Thus ended the first attempt to provide the Bishop Rock with a lighthouse.

The engineer, though defeated, was not dismayed. As a skeleton structure was impotent, he would erect a massive masonry tower which not all the force of the waves could avail to demolish. Although the reef is about 150 feet in length by 52 feet in width, the engineer, James Walker, was not afforded much space upon which to place his creation. He reconnoitred the ridge, and finally chose a small lump just sufficiently large upon which to effect a foothold. The Smeaton type of tower was his model, and the surface of the rock was trimmed to receive the first blocks. This was the greatest difficulty. Unless the sea were as smooth as a millpond, he was helpless, as the lowest blocks had to be laid a foot beneath low-water mark. A heavy cofferdam was erected around the site, and the water within was pumped out, so that the masons might be able to toil upon a dry rock-face.

The exposed, isolated character of the spot rendered the housing of the workmen a problem in itself. They could not be accommodated on the site; a temporary dwelling on piles for their accommodation could not be established, as it would come down with the first gale, and housing on a tender was equally impracticable. There was a small uninhabited islet within convenient distance of the reef, and on this the living-quarters and workshops were erected, the men being transported to and fro whenever the conditions were suitable. Traces of this bygone industrial activity still remain on the island, but the sea-fowl have once more claimed it exclusively as their home. The working spells were brief, as well as being somewhat few and far between, while the base was being prepared. The granite was brought to the island depot, fashioned into shape, and then sent to the Bishop for erection. Granite was used exclusively, and in 1878, after seven years’ arduous labour, the tower, 120 feet in height, capped by a powerful light, was completed: the dreaded Bishop Rock was conquered at last.

When it was first commissioned, four men were deputed to watch this light, three being on the rock, and the fourth man on leave at St. Mary’s. The duty was for three months continuous, one man being relieved every month if possible; but, as a matter of fact, the spell on the rock often was increased, owing to the weather rendering it impossible to exchange the men. The character of their duty, under the terrible assaults of the sea, played havoc with the constitutions and nerves of the lighthouse-keepers. They became taciturn, and inevitably fell victims to neurasthenia, owing to their long periods of isolation. Accordingly the authorities gradually relaxed the spell of duty, until now it comprises a month on the rock, followed by a fortnight ashore, while six men, instead of four, are appointed to the station. The Bishop light demands watchers of iron constitution and prolonged experience of the rigours of imprisonment upon a lonely rock. The men appear to suffer most from the fear that one day the seas will regain the upper hand and carry the slender-looking shaft of masonry away. When the Atlantic is roused to fury, the din created by the waves smashing against the tower and reef is so deafening that the keepers can only converse by signs.

The attacks which this tower has to withstand are fearful. When the equinoxes are raging, it is no uncommon circumstance for the waves to roll up the side of the tower and hurl themselves clean over the lantern. The enormous force of the water was brought home very startlingly to the attendants of the light one night, when a more than usually wicked breaker slid up the curved round face and wrenched the fog-bell, weighing 550 pounds, from its fastenings on the lantern gallery. The ponderous piece of metal was dashed on to the reef and smashed to fragments. A small piece was recovered after the gale, and is now preserved in the Trinity House museum as an interesting memento of the night when the Atlantic almost got the upper hand. The nerves of the men are tried severely, also, by memories of the terrible marine disasters which have happened on or near the ridge, such as that of the German packet Schiller, which went down in 1875 with the loss of 331 lives.

It is not surprising that the ceaseless attacks of the waves should have left their traces at last. The light had been burning for about twenty years, when tremors and quakings, similar to those observed in connection with Smeaton’s Eddystone tower, were reported to the authorities. Sir James Douglass visited the rock, and made a minute inspection. It was apparent that the lighthouse demanded extensive overhauling and strengthening if it were to be preserved. In fact, this was the only feasible course of action, as there was not another suitable spot whereon a new structure could be raised. The Eddystone had been completed, and as the same tackle was available, the protective work was undertaken at once. In conjunction with this enterprise, the engineer also advocated an increase in the height of the tower.