It would be difficult to name a position on the Scottish coast where a lighthouse was more a matter of necessity for the safety of ships than this long-famous rock. The beacons which, one after another, had been erected upon it, the furious waves had swept away; and a structure was needed not less solid and permanent than that of the Eddystone. To design such a structure, and to plant it solidly amid the waves, became, in 1806, the task of Mr. Robert Stevenson. As the rock was frequently under water to the depth of twelve feet, the task was scarcely less difficult than that whose successful achievement has helped to perpetuate the name and fame of Smeaton.
On the 7th of August 1807 the work was begun. The first stage was the erection of a wooden workshop and residence for the artificers, and this apparently simple operation occupied the whole season, the supports having to be firmly fixed in holes dug out of the solid rock. The hardness and compactness of the sandstone, however, soon blunted their tools, and rendered necessary the constant employment of a smith with his forge. But it often happened, says Mr. Stevenson, to our annoyance and disappointment, in the early state of the work, when the smith was in the middle of “a favourite heat,” and fashioning some useful article, or sharpening the tools, after the flood-tide had compelled the men to strike work, a sea would come rolling over the rocks, dash out the fire, and endanger that indispensable implement, the bellows; or, if the sea were smooth, while the smith often stood at work knee-deep in the water, the tide rose imperceptibly, first cooling the exterior of the fireplace, or hearth, and then quietly blackening and extinguishing the fire from below. Mr. Stevenson was frequently amused at the anxiety and perplexity of the unfortunate smith when coaxing his fire, and endeavouring in vain to contend against the rising tide. Obviously the work would go on but slowly, until the workshop (also intended to serve as a beacon) was completed, and the smith protected against the insidious waters.[36]
Dangers of a far more serious kind also beset the patient founders of the Bell Rock Lighthouse.
On the 2nd of September, after the first cargo of stones had been landed, and while thirty-two artificers were busily occupied in their various departments of labour, a gale arose, and the attendant vessel—named the Smeaton, after the great English engineer—broke adrift from her moorings. This unfortunate circumstance, at first, was known only to Mr. Stevenson and his landing-master, who fully appreciated the gravity of the situation—thirty-two men on an insulated rock, which, at flood-tide, lay twelve feet under water, with only two boats at hand, and these not capable in foul weather of carrying more than eight men each.
While the artisans were at work, chiefly in sitting and kneeling postures, excavating the rock, or boring with the tools, and while the din of their hammers and the clang of the smith’s forge filled the air, there was sufficient life and motion in the scene to keep Stevenson’s mind from fully realizing the dangers of his position. But by degrees the water began to rise, and with slowly-swelling waves it gained upon those engaged in work on the lower portions of the sites of the beacon and lighthouse. From the run of the sea upon the rock, the forge-fire was more quickly extinguished than usual; and the volumes of smoke having ceased, the men at work could examine every object around. After having had about three hours’ work, the majority began to make towards their respective boats for their jackets and stockings, when, to their astonishment, instead of three boats, they found only two, the third being adrift with the Smeaton. Not a word was uttered, but all appeared to be silently calculating their numbers, while they gazed from one to another with dismay and perplexity plainly painted on their countenances. The landing-master, conceiving that he might be censured for allowing the boat to quit the rock, remained at a distance, while Mr. Stevenson placed himself on the most elevated crag, endeavouring to track the progress of the Smeaton, and surprised that the crew did not cut her boat adrift, as it greatly retarded her way. The workmen looked steadfastly upon their engineer, occasionally turning towards the vessel, which was still far to leeward.
All this took place in the most perfect silence, and the melancholy solemnity of the scene was such that it produced an ineffaceable impression on Mr. Stevenson’s mind.
In the meantime the engineer was meditating various schemes which might be adopted for the general safety of the party. The most feasible seemed to be, that as soon as the waves should reach the highest summit of the rock, all should disembarrass themselves of their upper garments; and while a certain number went on board each boat, the remainder should hang by the gunwales, and the boats should row gently towards the Smeaton, as the Pharos, or floating-light, lay too much to the windward of the rock. Stevenson wished to propose this plan; but, on attempting to speak, his mouth was so parched that his tongue refused utterance, and he now learned by experience that the saliva is as necessary as the tongue itself for speech. Turning to one of the rock-pools, he lapped a little water, and obtained immediate relief. But great was his joy, when, on rising from this unpleasant beverage, a voice called out, “A boat! a boat!” and, on looking around, at no great distance a large boat loomed through the deep, and was evidently making for the rock. She proved to be a pilot-boat from Arbroath, express with letters; and willingly taking on board Stevenson and his company, rescued them from their critical position. In return for this service, the pilot was pensioned by the Lighthouse Commissioners in his old age.
On the 6th of September, the whole company on board of the light-ship, or Pharos, was surprised by a tremendous gale, which prevented them from approaching the rock for ten days, and exposed them to real danger.
About two o’clock P.M., says Stevenson, a very heavy sea struck the ship, flooded the deck, and poured into the berths below. Everybody thought that she had foundered, and that their last moment had come. Below deck total darkness prevailed; several of the artificers were at prayer, repeating hymns, or uttering devout ejaculations; others protested that if they should be fortunately spared to reach land once more, no one would induce them to tempt the treacherous waves again. Through the confusion Stevenson made his way upon deck. An astounding spectacle met his gaze. The billows appeared to be ten or fifteen feet in height of unbroken water, and each threatened the little vessel with immediate destruction; but still, with wonderful buoyancy, she continued to rise upon the waves, and escape their worst violence.