Nature appeared to capitulate after this terrible assault, and work proceeded rapidly. The crest of the rock was removed and levelled off, to form an excellent platform for the reception of the beacon and other buildings. An inclined tramway was excavated out of the rock-face, communicating with the landing-stage, to facilitate the haulage of the light-keepers’ necessities, and then the arrangements for the completion of the building were hurried forward.
When the public saw that the work was being accomplished without loss to life or limb, and that the plucky little party of toilers weathered the gales, an intense interest was manifested in the undertaking. The foreman was provided with an international code of signals, and passing vessels, as an act of courtesy and in recognition of the work that was being done to further their safety, always stood towards the rock to render assistance in case it was required. The workmen appreciated this feeling, and on two occasions, during dense fog, intimated to captains who had lost their way, and were groping blindly round the rock, that they were venturing into dangerous waters. The warning was primitive but effective. It comprised the explosion of giant-powder cartridges over the sea in the direction whence the ships’ sirens sounded. In both instances the navigators heard the signals in the nick of time, and were able to steer clear.
The lighthouse itself comprises a group of buildings for the keepers, from which rises a square tower 48 feet in height, bringing the light 132 feet above mean high-water. The dwelling is built of stone, measures 48 feet by 45 feet, and is one story in height. In addition there is an extension for housing the powerful siren and its machinery. The building contains adequate living-quarters, together with storage rooms and a kitchen. As this light is particularly lonely, four keepers are stationed on the rock, and their rooms each have a clear length of 12 feet by 10 feet wide. Also, as the rock is so difficult to approach, and relief may suffer extreme delay from adverse weather, sufficient provisions are stored to insure full rations for six months.
The light is of the first order, of 160,000 candle-power, and is visible at a distance of eighteen miles in clear weather. It is a brilliant white flashing beam, occurring once every five seconds, the flash being of two seconds, followed by an eclipse of three seconds. The fog-siren is likewise of the first order, driven by steam-engines. This plant is in duplicate, and the signal is given every forty-five seconds, the blast being of five seconds, followed by silence for forty seconds.
The conquest of the Tillamook Rock has been one of the most difficult tasks that the United States Lighthouse Board ever has accomplished. The little band of quarrymen who braved danger, hardship, and privation, effected occupation of the rock on October 21, 1879, and the light was exhibited for the first time on January 21, 1881, the total time occupied in the task being 575 days. It has robbed the dreaded Oregon coast of one of its worst perils, and the money which was devoted to the provision of this stalwart guardian—£24,698, or $123,493—was indeed expended to good purpose.
CHAPTER XV
THE COAST LIGHTS OF THE UNITED STATES
Few nations have such a varied coastline to guard as the United States. On the Atlantic seaboard the northern shore is a shaggy bold rampart of lofty cliff, hard and pitiless. Farther south the rock gradually gives way to sandy dunes, which the hungry sea is continually gnawing away here and piling up somewhere else. Then, as the tropics are entered, the sand in turn gives way to coral reefs, every whit as formidable as rock and as treacherous as sand, where the hurricane reigns supreme and makes its presence felt only too frequently. Across the continent a similar variation, though not perhaps so intense, is observable on the Pacific side. The coast range runs parallel with the shore, and consequently cliff and precipice are common, owing to the lateral spurs of the range coming to an abrupt termination where land and water meet.
The result is that no one type of beacon is possible of adoption as a standard for the whole coastline. The class of structure has to be modified to meet local conditions, but the battle between destruction and preservation is none the less bitter and continuous. When ships began to trade with the Atlantic seaboard of the United States, the erection of warning lights became imperative. This duty was fulfilled in the early days by local enterprise, and the first lighthouse on the continent was built on Little Brewster Island, at the entrance to Boston Harbour. It was completed about 1716, was a conical masonry tower, and its cost, which is interesting as being set out to the uttermost farthing—£2,285 17s. 8½d.—betrays the scrupulous commercial integrity of the first financiers of the United States. The light was maintained by the levy of a due of one penny per ton on all incoming and outgoing vessels, except those engaged in coastal traffic, and was collected by the same authority which subsequently got into trouble in the endeavour to collect the tax on tea. This pioneer light is still in service, although in 1783 it was rebuilt. The light, of the second order, is 102 feet above mean high-water, and gives a white flash every thirty seconds, which is visible from a distance of sixteen miles; the fog-signal is a first-class siren, giving a blast of five seconds, followed by silence for ten seconds, with a succeeding blast of five seconds and silence for forty seconds.