Lightships and Lighthouses

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

Lovers of Longfellow will recall the poet’s song to the lighthouse, but how many of his admirers know to what beacon these stirring lines refer? When they were penned the author had in his mind’s eye an example of the engineer’s handiwork which ranks as one of the finest sea-rock lights in existence, worthy of comparison with the most famous of similar structures scattered throughout the waters washing the Old World.

This is the far-famed Minot’s Ledge light, warning the seafarer making to and from Boston Bay of the terrible peril which lurks beneath the waves on the southern side of the entrance to this busy indentation. “Like the great giant Christopher it stands,” a powerful monument to engineering genius, dogged perseverance against overwhelming odds, and a grim, bitter contest lasting five weary years between the implacable elements and human endeavour. The Minot Ledge is one of those jagged reefs which thrust themselves far out into the sea, studded with pinnacles and chisel-like edges, which never, or very seldom, protrude above the waves. Ship after ship fouled this danger spot, either to be sunk or to be so badly crippled that it barely could contrive to crawl to safety.

The prosperity of Boston was threatened by this peril to shipping, and therefore it is not surprising that a resolution was passed to devise some ways and means of indicating its presence to those who go down to the sea in ships. The solution was offered in a skeleton structure fashioned from iron, which was designed by Captain W. H. Swift, of the United States Topographical Engineers. He searched the reef through and through to ascertain the point where the beacon should be placed so as to prove of the greatest value. This in itself was no simple matter, inasmuch as Minot’s Ledge is but one of a great area of wicked crags, which collectively are known as the Cohasset Rocks, and which straggle over the sea-bed in all directions. After the position had been reconnoitred thoroughly, and sounding and levels had been taken, the engineer decided that the most seaward rock of the group, known as the Outer Minot, would be the most strategical position, and accordingly he planned to erect his beacon thereon.

It was a daring proposal, because the reef at the point selected only exposes some 25 feet of its mass above the falling tide, and then the highest point of the rock scarcely thrusts itself 3½ feet into the air. It was realized that the periods of working between the tides would inevitably be very brief, while even then, owing to the open position of the ridge, a landing would only be possible in very smooth weather, and the men would have to suffer exposure to the fury of the waves as they dashed over the ledge.

Captain Swift decided upon a skeleton iron structure, not only because it would be quicker to erect and would cost less, but because it would offer the least resistance to the waves, which would be free to expend their energy among the stilts. The task was taken in hand at the first favourable opportunity, and, the system lending itself to rapid construction, marked progress was made every time the workmen succeeded in getting on the ledge. The lantern and keepers’ quarters were supported upon nine piles, 60 feet above the rock. The legs were so disposed that eight described the circumference of a circle, while the ninth constituted the axis.

This tower was completed in 1848, and for the first time the navigator making these treacherous waters received a powerful warning to keep clear of Minot’s Ledge. For three years the beacon survived the battering of wind and wave, but its welcome beam was last seen on the night of April 16, 1851. In the spring of that year a gale of terrific fury beat upon the Massachusetts coast. The wind freshened on April 13; the next day it rose to its full force, and did not abate for four days. The good people of Boston grew apprehensive concerning the plight of the two keepers of the lonely Minot’s light, but, however willing they might have been to have put out to the beacon, they were absolutely impotent before the ferocity of the elements. Time after time the light vanished from sight as it was enveloped in an angry curling mountain of water. On April 17 the doleful tolling of the lighthouse bell was heard, but the light was never seen again. The structure had slipped completely from sight, together with its faithful keepers, swallowed by the hungry Atlantic. Evidently the wail of the bell was a last plea for assistance, because no doubt the lighthouse had bowed to the storm and was tottering when the tolling rang out. But the call brought no help; it was the funeral knell of the guardians of the beacon. When the sea went down a boat pushed off to the ledge, and all that was seen were a few bent piles. Captain Swift had done his work well. The waves could not tear his beacon up by the roots, so had snapped off the piles like carrots, and had carried away the lantern.

THE MINOT’S LEDGE LIGHT.

Marking the rock off Boston Harbour, it is one of the greatest works completed by the lighthouse builders of the United States. It forms the theme of Longfellow’s well-known poem.

This sensational disaster, after a brief existence of three years, did not augur well for the permanence of a light upon this precarious ledge. The Outer Minot appeared to be determined to continue its plunder of ships, cargoes, and lives, untrammelled. Accordingly, for three years no effort was made to bring about its subjugation.