THE HOMES OF THE KEEPERS OF THE SKERRYVORE AND DHU-HEARTACH LIGHTS.
On the Island of Tiree, Argyllshire, 10 miles away.
Yet the men could not grumble. The engineer responsible for the work shared their privations and discomforts, for Alan Stevenson clung to the rock night and day while work was in progress, and he has given a very vivid impression of life in this quaint home on legs. He relates how he “spent many a weary day and night—at those times when the sea prevented anyone going down to the rock—anxiously looking for supplies from the shore, and earnestly looking for a change of weather favourable for prosecuting the works. For miles around nothing could be seen but white foaming breakers, and nothing heard but howling winds and lashing waves. At such seasons much of our time was spent in bed, for there alone we had effectual shelter from the winds and spray, which searched every cranny in the walls of the barrack. Our slumbers, too, were at times fearfully interrupted by the sudden pouring of the sea over the roof, the rocking of the house on its pillars, and the spurting of water through the seams of the doors and windows—symptoms which, to one suddenly aroused from sound sleep, recalled the appalling fate of the former barrack, which had been engulfed in the foam not 20 yards from our dwelling, and for a moment seemed to summon us to a similar fate.”
The work upon the rock was tedious and exasperating in the extreme. The gneiss was of maddening hardness and obstinacy—“four times as tough as Aberdeen granite” was the general opinion. The Atlantic, pounding the rock continuously through the centuries, had faced it smoother than could any mason with his tools, yet had not left it sufficiently sound to receive the foundations. In the external layer, which the masons laboured strenuously to remove with their puny tools, there were cracks and crevices here and there. The stubborn rock played havoc with the finest chisels and drills, and clearing had to be effected for the most part by the aid of gunpowder. This powerful agent, however, could only be used sparingly and with extreme skill, so that the rock-face might not be shivered or shattered too severely. Moreover, the men ran extreme risks, for the rock splintered like glass, and the flying chips were capable of doing as much damage, when thus impelled, as a bullet.
While the foundations were being prepared, and until the barrack was constructed, the men ran other terrible risks every morning and night in landing upon and leaving the polished surface of the reef. Five months during the summer was the working season, but even then many days and weeks were often lost owing to the swell being too great to permit the rowing-boat to come alongside. The engineer relates that the work was “a good lesson in the school of patience,” because the delays were frequent and galling, while every storm which got up and expended its rage upon the reef left its mark indelibly among the engineer’s stock-in-trade. Cranes and other material were swept away as if they were corks; lashings, no matter how strong, were snapped like pack-threads. Time after time the tender lying alongside had to weigh anchor hurriedly, and make a spirited run to its haven at Tyree.
When the barrack was erected, the situation was eased somewhat, but then the hours became long. Operations being confined to the summer months, the average working day was from four in the morning until nine in the evening—seventeen hours—with intervals for meals; but the men were not averse to the prolonged daily toil, inasmuch as cessation brought no welcome relaxations, but rather encouraged broodings over their isolated position, whereas occupation served to keep the mind engaged. Twice the men had severe frights during the night. On each occasion a violent storm sprang up after they had gone to bed, and one or two ugly breakers, getting their blows home, shook the eyrie with the force of an earthquake. Every man leaped out of his bunk, and one or two of the more timid, in their fright, hurried down the ladder and spent the remaining spell of darkness shivering and quaking on the completed trunk of the lighthouse, deeming it to be safer than the crazy-looking structure which served as their home.
Two years were occupied upon the foundations, the first stone being laid by the Duke of Argyll on July 7, 1840. This eminent personage evinced a deep interest in the work and the difficulties which had to be overcome, and as proprietor of the island of Tyree extended to the Commissioners free permission to quarry any granite they required from any part of his estate.
For a height of some 21 feet from the foundation level the tower is a solid trunk of masonry. Then come the entrance and water-tanks, followed by nine floors, comprising successively coal-store, workshop, storeroom, kitchen, two bedrooms, library, oil-store, and light-room, the whole occupying a height of 130 feet, crowned by the lantern. As a specimen of lighthouse engineering, the Skerryvore has become famous throughout the world. The stones forming the solid courses at the bottom are attached to one another so firmly and ingeniously as to secure the maximum of strength and solidity, the result being that nothing short of an earthquake could overthrow the stalk of masonry.
The erection of the superstructure was by no means free from danger and excitement. The working space both on the tower itself and around the base was severely cramped. The men at the latter point had to keep a vigilant eye upon those working above, since, despite the most elaborate precautions, falls of tools and other heavy bodies were by no means infrequent. Notwithstanding its perilous character, the undertaking was free from accident and fatality, and, although the men were compelled by force of circumstances to depend mostly upon salt foodstuffs, the little colony suffered very slightly from the ravages of dysentery.
Probably the worst experience was when the men on the rock were weather-bound for seven weeks during one season. The weather broke suddenly. Heavy seas and adverse winds raged so furiously that the steamboat dared not put out of its haven, but remained there with steam up, patiently waiting for a lull in the storm, during which they might succour the unfortunate men on the reef. The latter passed a dreary, pitiable time. Their provisions sank to a very low level, they ran short of fuel, their sodden clothing was worn to rags, and, what was far worse from their point of view, their tobacco became exhausted. The average working man will tolerate extreme discomfort and privation so long as the friendship of his pipe remains, but the denial of this companion comes as the last straw.