The fourth year was devoted to strengthening the foundations and enlarging the structure, which, when completed, resembled nothing so much as “a Chinese pagoda, with open galleries and fantastic projections.” The gallery around the lantern was so wide and open, that it was possible, when the sea ran high, for a six-oared boat to be lifted by the waves and driven through it. Such an edifice could not long resist the fury of the waters or the violence of the gale; but, at least, it served to prove that a lighthouse could be erected on the rock, and its achievement was one of the most laudable enterprises which any heroic mind could undertake, for it filled the breast of the mariner with new hope.
Winstanley was proud of his work, and so convinced, it is said, of its entire solidity, that he expressed a wish to be beneath its roof in the greatest storm that ever blew under the face of heaven, convinced that it could not shake one joist or beam. He had his presumptuous wish fulfilled. With his workmen and keepers he had taken up his abode in the lighthouse, when a terrible gale blew up, and on the 26th of November attained to an unparalleled excess of fury. In truth, it was of so frightful a character that contemporary annals vividly record its destructive effects, and the alarm it produced.
All through that memorable night the tempest raged. As soon as morning came the people of Plymouth hastened to the beach, and turned their gaze instinctively towards the Eddystone. But no structure crowned the rock, over which the waves were tossing and swirling all unchecked. The lighthouse was swept away, and no vestiges remained of its adventurous occupants.
The question now arose, Who was to rebuild the lighthouse? Three years passed before it was answered; and then the task was taken up by one Captain Lovet, who obtained a ninety-nine years’ lease from the Trinity Corporation, and immediately engaged as his architect a silk-mercer on Ludgate Hill, named John Rudyerd. What reasons guided Lovet in his curious choice we cannot ascertain; probably Rudyerd had given some signal proofs of mechanical ingenuity; but, at all events, the choice proved a felicitous one. Rudyerd submitted for the new building an elegant and admirable design; instead of a polygon, he chose a circle for the outline, and instead of the projections and ornaments with which Winstanley had arrested every breeze that blew, he studied the utmost simplicity, so as to offer wind or wave the slightest possible resistance.
He secured the foundation with the utmost care. He divided the irregular surface of the rock into seven rather unequal stages, and cut thirty-six holes in these, to the depth of from twenty to thirty inches. These holes were six inches square at the top, gradually narrowing to five inches, and then again expanding and flattening to nine inches by three at the bottom. Into these dove-tailed holes strong iron bolts or branches were keyed; each bolt being fitted exactly in size to the hole it was intended to fill, and weighing from two to five hundredweight, according to its length and structure.
The bolts made fast, Rudyerd proceeded to fix a course of squared oak timbers lengthwise upon the lowest step, so as to reach the level of the step above. Another set of timbers were then laid crosswise, so as to cover those already laid, and to raise the level surface to the height of the third stage. The third structure was again laid lengthwise, the fourth crosswise, and so on, alternately, until a basement of solid wood was secured, two courses higher than the highest point of the rock; all being fitted together and to the rock, by means of the bolts, as firmly as possible, and all, in their intersections with one another, being closely trenailed.
The bolts originally let into the solid rock were perforated in their upper parts—some with three, and some with four holes; so that in every pair, collectively called a branch, there would be about seven holes. As the branches numbered thirty-six, there would be 252 holes, each about seven-eighths of an inch in diameter, and consequently as many large “bearded spikes” or “jag-bolts,” which, being driven through the branches into the solid timber, held the mass firmly down.
Rudyerd’s lighthouse is generally described as a timber edifice. This is not correct. Knowing that weight is best resisted and counteracted by weight, and to insure a sufficient amount of resistance, he combined with his courses of timber solid courses of Cornish granite, in this manner: the foundation was of oak for two courses; then came five courses of stone, each a foot in thickness, kept together by iron cramps; and then two courses more of timber. Thus was completed the basement.