Lightships and Lighthouses

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

His plans met with approval, and an ingenious means of strengthening the existing building was evolved. Virtually it comprised the erection of a new tower around the old shaft, and connected to the latter, so as to form one homogeneous structure. In order to strengthen the foundations, massive blocks of masonry were sunk into the rock, cemented, and held in position by heavy bolts. From the masons’ point of view, the task of overhauling was more exciting and dangerous than that which had attended the erection of the original tower; for the men had to toil on narrow, swinging platforms, cutting notches in the face of every stone in the existing structure to receive dovetails on the blocks of the new outer shell. Thus the latter were dovetailed to adjacent blocks on five out of their six faces. A massive chain was slung round the upper part of the tower, from which life-lines hung down to the men working below. A man was stationed as a lookout. When he saw a breaker approaching he gave a signal; each man clutched his life-rope tenaciously and retained his foothold as best he could on his perilous perch while the water swept over him. Often the men were submerged by a rushing wave, and when the water subsided shook themselves like dogs emerging from the water. But the provision of the life-ropes prevented serious injury and loss of life, although the masons at times were considerably knocked about.

The tower has been given an enormous, massive, cylindrical base, while the shaft is solid to the entrance level, except for the usual water-tanks. The attachment of the outer shell reinforced it remarkably, the walls at the entrance being increased to a thickness of 8 feet. The addition of the four extra floors elevated the light by a further 40 feet, the focal plane now being 163 feet above high-water. The light, of 622,500 candle-power, visible for eighteen miles, is a white group-flash, there being two flashes, each of four seconds’ duration, with an intervening eclipse of five seconds, while the groups are separated by intervals of forty-seven seconds.

Off the northern shores of the Scillies, standing in the strait which provides a short-cut around the toe of England, is another magnificent tower. This is the Wolf Rock lighthouse, marking the reef of that name, which lies eight miles off Land’s End in the fairway of the coastal traffic. The cluster of rocks from which it rises is just as dangerous as that to the south, and is exposed likewise to the full fury of the south-westerly gales coming in from the Atlantic. It was one of the most attractive spots to the old Cornish wreckers, for ships which lost their way during the fogs which hang about this coast invariably blundered into the reef, to be smashed to pieces within a very short time.

This spot was not so greatly feared by the seafarer when heavy gales prevailed. There was a hollow rock on the ridge, into which the waves were driven. In so doing they compressed the air within the space, which, as it escaped, produced a long, distinctive wail, recalling the cry of the wolf. It was this natural phenomenon which gave the rock its name. The harder the wind blew, and the higher the waves rose, the louder was the reverberating bellow, and, as it could be heard distinctly above the music of the storm, the navigator was able to steer clear of the formidable obstruction. On the other hand, during periods of heavy fog, when the waves were usually quiet, there was scarcely any perceptible sound.

Photo, Paul, Penzance.

THE LONGSHIPS LIGHT.

In the background is the forbidding iron-bound Cornish coast, where wrecks unfortunately are frequent.

The Wolf Rock would be growling to this day had it not been for the inhuman action of the Cornish plunderers. They detested the weird noise as cordially as the mariner blessed it. It robbed them of so many rich hauls that at last they decided to silence the rock for ever. They filled the cavity with large boulders, which were carried out in boats from the mainland and dumped overboard. Then the Cornishmen met with a spell of enhanced prosperity from the increased number of wrecks which occurred.

When the exigencies of commerce demanded that the reef should be guarded, a most fantastic device was prepared. An attempt was made to restore artificially the natural siren. A fabric wrought in copper in the form of a huge wolf with distended jaws was contrived, the designers averring that the air would rush in and produce a distinctive whistle. This grotesque danger-signal never reached its destination. It would have been absolutely useless even had it been placed over the rock, as the first lively sea would have carried it away, while the noise produced, if any, would have been inaudible more than a few feet away.