“The Smalls, February 1st, 1777.
“Sir,—Being now in a most dangerous and distressed condition upon the Smalls, do hereby trust Providence will bring to your hand this, which prayeth for your immediate assistance to fetch us off the Smalls before the next spring, or we fear we shall perish; our water near all gone, our fire quite gone, and our house in a most melancholy manner. I doubt not but you will fetch us from here as fast as possible; we can be got off at some part of the tide almost any weather. I need say no more, but remain your distressed,
“Humble servant,
“H. Whiteside.”
Beneath this signature a postscript had been added:—
“We were distressed in a gale of wind upon the 13th of January, since which have not been able to keep any light; but we could not have kept any light above sixteen nights longer for want of oil and candles, which makes us murmur and think we are forgotten.
“Edward Edwards, G. Adams, J. Price.
“P.S.—We doubt not that whoever takes up this will be so merciful as to cause it to be sent to Thomas Williams, Esq., Trelethin, near St. David’s, Wales.”
There are sadder pages than this, however, in the brief chronicle of the Smalls, and one bears a close resemblance to a painful incident associated with the Eddystone. It is said that early in the present century, and in a stormy winter of peculiar severity, the light-keepers were deprived of all communication with the land for a period of four months. It was in vain that ships were dispatched towards the rocks; a raging sea invariably prevented their approach. One of them returned, on a certain occasion, with the singular intelligence that her crew had observed a man standing upright and motionless, in a corner of the outer gallery, with a flag of distress floating beside him. But whether he was alive or dead, none could say, or even imagine. Every night the gaze of the inhabitants of the shore was anxiously directed towards the lighthouse, to see if the lamp was kindled; and every night the welcome ray shone punctually—a proof that there was still a keeper at the Smalls. But were the two guardians living; and if only one, which of the two survived? The curiosity of all, and the deep anxiety of some, daily increased, as day after day passed without further intelligence from the sea-girt rock.
One evening a fisherman of Milford contrived to land on the lighthouse rock in an interval of calm, and to carry back to Solva the two keepers; but of the two one was a corpse. The survivor had made a kind of shroud for his dead comrade, and afterwards placed him upright in the gallery, and securely bound him. This he did to avoid the odour which would have arisen from a dead body preserved within the lighthouse, and yet to let it remain for the examination of the surgeons, lest any suspicion of foul play should attach to him.
