LIGHTHOUSES
AND
LIGHTSHIPS.

EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE.

LIGHTHOUSES
AND
LIGHTSHIPS:

A DESCRIPTIVE AND HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF THEIR MODE OF CONSTRUCTION AND ORGANIZATION.

BY
W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS,
AUTHOR OF “BURIED CITIES OF CAMPANIA,” “QUEEN OF THE ADRIATIC,” “EARTH AND SEA,” ETC.

With Illustrations from Photographs and other sources.

NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER AND CO.

1870.

Illustrated Library of Wonders.

PUBLISHED BY

Messrs. Charles Scribner & Co.,

654 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.

Each one volume 12mo. Price per volume, $1.50.

* In Press for early Publication.

The above works sent to any address, post paid, upon receipt of the price by the publishers.

Preface.

The importance of the Lighthouse system which protects our seamen against the numerous dangers and difficulties of the British shores is fully appreciated by every Englishman. But it may reasonably be doubted whether the general public have any correct idea of its completeness, of the administrative principles which regulate its management, or of the steps by which it has attained its present development. They know but little, moreover, of the engineering skill which has been so successfully exercised in the construction of Lighthouses, or of the scientific knowledge which has been brought to bear upon the perfection of their illuminating apparatus. It may safely be said, that for a large number of readers, the alpha of their information, on this subject, is the Eddystone, and their omega the Bell Rock.

If such be the case, it may be presumed that the present volume will be accepted as an honest attempt to supply an admitted deficiency. It is based on the best authorities, and its pages have been revised by competent critics. Its aim is to furnish in a popular and intelligible form a description of the Lighthouse as it is and as it was—of the rude Roman pharos or old sea-tower, with its flickering fire of wood or coal, and the modern pharos, shapely and yet substantial, with its powerful illuminating apparatus of lamp and lenses, shining ten, or twelve, or twenty miles across the waves. The gradual improvement of this apparatus is concisely indicated. Sketches are furnished of the most remarkable Lighthouses in Great Britain and France, and a detailed account is given of the mode of life of their keepers, with full particulars of the administrative systems adopted at home and abroad. As auxiliaries in the noble work of guarding the seaman against the perils of rock and shoal, the Lightship, the Buoy, and the Beacon, have also found a place in our pages; and the volume closes with a list of all the Lights existing on the coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland at the present time.

In my description of the French Lighthouses I have been much indebted to M. Renard’s book, “Les Phares.” The information given respecting British Lighthouses has been drawn from a variety of sources, the more important of which are duly acknowledged. I have also derived many particulars from personal examination; and some interesting data and corrections have been supplied by Mr. Thomas Stevenson, the Engineer to the Board of Northern Lights, and the worthy member of a family long associated with lighthouse engineering.

The Illustrations are from photographs, unpublished sketches, and other authentic originals. Those of the French Lighthouses are copied, by permission, from M. Renard.

W. H. Davenport Adams.

May 1870.

Contents.

LIGHTHOUSES
AND
LIGHTSHIPS.

BOOK I.
ANCIENT HISTORY OF LIGHTHOUSES.

CHAPTER I.
THE FIRE-TOWERS OF THE MEDITERRANEAN.

We are apt to look upon the lighthouse as completely a modern invention, but a little reflection would convince us that the early navigators, in their arduous struggle against the ocean, could not have failed to establish some sure indications by which to guide their adventurous course. Undoubtedly, the first rude signal would be no more than a huge fire blazing on the wave-washed promontory, or on the summit of hoary hill or grassy mound nearest to the more dangerous parts of the shore. But it can easily be conceived that the difficulty of keeping these fires kindled on stormy nights would soon suggest to man’s ingenuity the idea of erecting a suitable structure for their shelter.

The value of this kind of coast defences was so apparent, that the ancients felt unable to ascribe them to simple human invention. And thus the Greeks attributed their origin to the demigod Hercules. But there seems some reason to believe that, long before Greece became a maritime nation, light-towers had been built by the Lybians and the Cuthites along the coast-line of Lower Egypt. These towers, we are told,[1] served as landmarks during the day, as beacons during the night. Their purpose was a holy one, and accordingly they were also used as temples, and each was dedicated to a divinity. The mariner, who naturally held them in great veneration, enriched them with his votive offerings. It has been conjectured by some authorities that their walls at first were painted with charts of the Mediterranean coast and of the navigation of the Nile; these charts being afterwards transferred to papyrus. The priests of these singular but valuable institutions taught the sciences of hydrography and pilotage, and the art of steering a vessel’s course by the aid of the constellations. On the summit of each tower a fire was continually burning; the fire being placed in a machine of iron or bronze, composed of three or four branches, each representing a dolphin or some other marine animal, and all bound together by skilful decorative work. The machine was attached to the extremity of a stout pole, and so placed that its radiance was directed seaward.

According to the Baron de Zach, in his “Correspondance Astronomique,” the Lybian appellation for these towers was tar, or tor.[2] As is signifies “fire,” we thus obtain the compound Tor-is, or “fire-tower;” whence the Greeks derived their [τύῤῥις], and the Latins their turris. In like manner, the Latin columna comes, it is said, from Col-On, the “pillar of the sun.”

THE BEACON FIRE.

Some authorities boldly carry this etymological diversion a little further. When the fire-towers were situated upon eminences outside the boundaries of cities, and constructed of a circular form, they were called Tith. The mythological Tithonus, so celebrated for his longevity, seems, they assert, to have been one of these edifices dedicated to the sun; and Thetis, the ancient ocean-goddess, simply a fire-tower near the sea, called Thit-is. Nor have ingenious theorists been wanting to maintain that the massacre of the Cyclops, who, according to the old legend, were stricken by Apollo’s arrows, was nothing but a poetical version of the manner in which the fires of the Cyclopean towers, planted on the eastern coasts of Sicily, were extinguished by the rays of the rising sun.[3]

The impression which the light-tower produced on the popular imagination is, however, more beautifully, as well as more certainly, described by Homer in a well-known passage of the “Iliad” (bk. xix. 375):—

“As to seamen o’er the wave is borne
The watch-fire’s light, which, high among the hills,
Some shepherd kindles in his lonely fold.”

In our English Bible the word beacon occurs but once—namely in the Prophecies of Isaiah (xxx. 17), who lived about two centuries later than Homer; but in the Septuagint version, the same word is rendered as a “flagstaff” or “perch,” and unquestionably refers to a land-signal rather than to a maritime light.

The first pharos which performed its duties in a regular manner seems to have been that which Lesches, the author of the “Little Iliad” (who flourished about the 9th Olympiad), erected on the promontory of Sigeum, at the entrance of the Hellespont. It is figured in the Iliac Table.

Though the most ancient in our records, the honour was not reserved to it of bequeathing its name to its successors, any more than to Columbus the glory of leaving his name to the New World. This honour was gained by the mighty tower elevated on the island of Pharos, at Alexandria, which served as a model for some of the most celebrated lighthouses erected in later times. Such was the case with the pharos built by the Emperor Claudian at Ostia, which appears to have been the most remarkable of any on the Latin coast. It was situated upon a breakwater, or artificial island, which occupied the mid space between the two huge moles that formed the harbour;[4] and its ruins were extant as late as the fifteenth century, when they were visited by Pope Pius II. Not less stately was the pharos which guided the seamen into the port of Puteoli, the emporium of the foreign trade of Imperial Rome; nor that which Augustus erected at the entrance of his new harbour of Ravenna, and which Pliny describes with so much enthusiasm; nor that, again, which shed its warning light from the mole of Messina over the whirlpool of Charybdis and the rock of Scylla; nor that which blazed in the island of Capreæ, and was destroyed by an earthquake shortly before the death of Tiberius.

Dionysius of Byzantium[5] describes a celebrated lighthouse planted at the mouth of the river Chrysorrhoas, where the latter mingles its waters with those of the Thracian Bosphorus (the modern channel of Constantinople). “On the crest of the hill,” he says, “whose base is washed by the Chrysorrhoas, may be seen the Timean tower, of an extraordinary height; and from its summit the spectator beholds a vast expanse of sea. It has been built for the safety of the navigator, fires being kindled for their guidance; which was all the more necessary because the shores of this sea are without ports, and no anchor can reach its bottom. But the barbarians of the coast lighted other fires on the loftiest points of the coast, to deceive the mariner, and profit by his shipwreck. At present,” adds our author, “the tower is partly ruined, and no lantern is lighted in it.”

Strabo refers in exaggerated terms to a superb pharos of stone at Capio, or Apio, near the harbour of Menestheus—the modern Puerto de Santa Maria. It stood on a rocky headland, nearly surrounded by the sea, and served as a guide for vessels through the shallow channels at the mouth of the Guadalquivir.[6]

What was the form of the Roman light-towers? This is a question not easily answered, when we remember that Herodian compares them to the catafalques of the emperors. The catafalques were square; but it is certain that quadrangular lighthouses were very seldom constructed. Montfaucon reproduces a medallion, from the famous cabinet of the Maréchal d’Estrées, which represents a Roman lighthouse as a circular tower, built in four stories of decreasing diameter. Another medal, discovered at Apameia, in Bithynia, and also figured by Montfaucon, likewise depicts a circular building. This medal bore the following inscription:—“Colonia Augusta Apameia, Colonia Julia Concordia decreto decurionum.”

A ROMAN PHAROS (FROM A MEDAL IN THE D’ESTREES’ COLLECTION).

Murleia, in Bithynia, was founded by a colony from Colophon, but having been captured by Philip of Macedonia, he gave it to Prusias, King of Bithynia, who called it after his wife Apameia. It was situated on the south coast of the Gulf of Cius, and to the north-west of Prusa. The Romans converted it into a colonia, apparently about the time of Julius Cæsar; certainly not later than that of Augustus.[7] And we shall hereafter see that the pharos at Dover, as at Boulogne, was also of this form.

ROMAN PHAROS (AFTER A MEDAL OF APAMEIA).

CHAPTER II.
THE PHAROS OF ALEXANDRIA.

One of the most famous lighthouses of antiquity, as I have already pointed out, was the pharos of Alexandria, which ancient writers included among the Seven Wonders of the World. It might naturally be supposed that the founder of so remarkable a monument of architectural skill would be well known; yet while Strabo and Pliny, Eusebius, Suidas, and Lucian ascribe its erection to Ptolemæus Philadelphus, the wisest and most benevolent of the Ptolemean kings of Egypt, by Tzetzes and Ammianus Marcellinus the honour is given to Cleopatra; and other authorities even attribute it to Alexander the Great.

All that can with certainty be affirmed is, that the architect was named Sostrates. Montfaucon, in his great work, endeavours to explain how it is that while we are thus informed as to the architect, we are so doubtful as to the founder, whom, for his part, he believes to have been Ptolemæus. Our ignorance, he says, is owing to the knavery of Sostrates. He wished to immortalize his name; a blameless wish, if at the same time he had not sought to suppress that of the founder, whose glory it was to have suggested the erection. For this purpose Sostrates devised a stratagem which proved successful; deep in the wall of the tower he cut the following inscription: “Sostrates of Cnidos, son of Dexiphanes, to the gods who Protect those who are upon the Sea.” But, mistrustful that King Ptolemæus would scarcely be satisfied with an inscription in which he was wholly ignored, he covered it with a light coat of cement, which he knew would not long endure the action of the atmosphere, and carved thereon the name of Ptolemæus. After a few years the cement and the name of the king disappeared, and revealed the inscription which gave all the glory to Sostrates.

Montfaucon, with genial credulity, adopts this anecdote as authentic, and adds: Pliny pretends that Ptolemæus, out of the modesty and greatness of his soul, desired the architect’s name to be engraved upon the tower, and no reference to himself to be made. But this statement is very dubious; it would have passed as incredible in those times, and even to-day would be regarded as an ill-understood act of magnanimity. We have never heard of any prince prohibiting the perpetuation of his name upon magnificent works designed for the public utility, or being content that the architect should usurp the entire honour.

To solve the difficulty, Champollion represents the pharos as constructed by Ptolemæus Soter. But, as Edrisi solemnly remarks, “God alone knows what is the truth.”

Much etymological erudition has been expended on the derivation of the word Pharos. As far as the Alexandrian light-tower is concerned, there can be no doubt that it was named from the islet on which it stood; yet Isidore asserts that the word came from [φὼς], “light,” and [ὁρἀν], “to see.” To quote again from Montfaucon: That numerous persons, who have not read the Greek authors, should exercise their ingenuity to no avail in the extraction of these etymologies, is far less surprising than that so good a scholar as Isaac Vossius should seek the origin of Pharos in the Greek language. From [ϕαἰνειν], “to shine,” he says, comes [ϕανερός], and from [ϕανερός], [ϕάρος].... But the island was called Pharos seven or eight hundred years before it possessed either tower or beacon-light.

The most reasonable conjecture seems to be that the word is a Hellenic form of Phrah, the Egyptian name of the sun, to whom the Alexandrian lighthouse would naturally be compared by wondering spectators, or dedicated by a devout prince.

At a later date we find the word applied to very different objects, though always retaining the signification of light or brilliancy. A pharos of fire—i.e., a ball or meteor—was seen, says Gregory of Tours, to issue from the church of St. Hilaire, and descend upon King Clovis. The same historian uses the word to describe a conflagration:—“They (the barbarians) set fire to the church of St. Hilaire, kindled a great pharos, and while the church was burning, pillaged the monastery.” The old French historian frequently employs the word in this sense, which leads us to suppose that in his time an incendiary was probably designated “a maker of pharoses” (un faiseur de phares). Still later, the term pharos was applied to certain machines in which a number of lamps or tapers were placed, as in a candelabrum. A modern French writer quotes from Anastasius the Librarian, that Pope Sylvester caused “a pharos of pure gold” to be constructed; and that Pope Adrian I. made one, “in the form of a cross,” capable of receiving one hundred and seventy candles or tapers. And Leon of Ostia, in his “Chronicle of Monte Cassino,” says, that the Abbot Didier had a pharos, or great silver crown, weighing one hundred pounds, constructed, which was surmounted by twelve little turrets, and from which were suspended six and thirty lamps.

We may add that the poets have employed the word “pharos” in a still more metaphorical sense, to signify an object which instructs while it illuminates, or those remarkable individuals whose genius becomes for all time the light of the world, and a beacon to posterity. Says the French poet Ronsard to Charles IX.:—

“Soyez mon phare, et gardez d’abymer,
Ma nef qui nage en si profonde mer.”

My guide, my pharos be, and save from wreck
My boat, which labours in so deep a sea.

But from this digression we return to the Alexandrian Wonder.

The long narrow island of Pharos lay in front of the city of Alexandria, sheltering both its harbours—the Greater Harbour and the Haven of Happy Return ([Εὔνοστος])—from the fury of the north wind and the occasional high tides of the Mediterranean.

It was a strip of white and dazzling calcareous rock, about a mile from Alexandria, and 150 stadia from the Canobic mouth of the river Nile. Its northern coast was fringed with small islets, which, in the fourth and fifth centuries, became the resort of Christian anchorites. A deep bay on the northern side was called the “Pirates’ Haven,” because, in early times, it had been a place of refuge for the Carian and Samian rovers. An artificial mound, or causeway, connected the island with the mainland. From its extent (seven stadia, 4270 English feet, or three-quarters of a mile), it was called the Heptastadium. In its whole length two breaks occurred, to permit of the passage of the water, and these breaks were crossed by drawbridges. At the insular end stood a temple to Hephæstus, and at the other the great Gate of the Moon. The famous lighthouse stood on a kind of peninsular rock at the eastern end of the island; and as it was built of white stone, and rose to a great height, it was scarcely a less conspicuous object from the city than from the neighbouring waters.

Some remarkable discrepancies occur in the accounts of this noble edifice, which have been handed down to us, but after all allowance has been made for error and exaggeration, it remains obvious that the wondering admiration bestowed upon it by the ancients was not unjustified. The statements of the distance at which its light could be seen are, however, most undeniably fictitious. That of Josephus, who compares it to the second of Herod’s three towers at Jerusalem—called Phasael, in honour of his brother—is the least incredible; yet even he asserts that the fire which burned on its summit was visible thirty-four English miles at sea! Such a range for a lighthouse on the low shores of Egypt would require, says Mr. Alan Stevenson, a tower about 550 feet in height.

Pliny affirms that its erection cost a sum of money equal, at the present value, to about £390,000, and if this were true, we might not dispute some of the assertions of ancient writers in reference to its elevation and solidity. But the fact that it has entirely disappeared seems to disprove the dimensions they have assigned to it. We are wholly unable to decide whether the help it afforded to mariners was from a common fire or from a more complete system of illumination. The poet Lucan, in his “Pharsalia,” asserts that it indicated to Julius Cæsar his approach to Egypt on the seventh night after he sailed from Troy; and he makes use of the significant expression “lampada,” which could hardly be applied, even poetically, to an open fire. Pliny expresses a fear lest its light, which, seen at a distance, had the appearance of flames, should, from its steadiness, be mistaken for a star (“periculum in continuatione ignium, ne sidus existimetur, quoniam è longinquo similis flammarum aspectus est”[8] ); but assuredly he would not have spoken in such terms of the wavering, irregular, and fitful light of an ordinary fire. We conclude, therefore, that its lighting apparatus was more complete than has generally been supposed.

When was this great monument destroyed?

The most probable supposition seems to be that it fell into decay in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and that its ruin was hastened or completed by the iconoclastic and barbarian hands of the Turkish conquerors of Egypt. That it existed in the twelfth century, we know from the graphic description of Edrisi; a description which will enable the reader to reproduce it before his “mind’s eye” in all its pristine glory:—

ANCIENT PHAROS OF ALEXANDRIA.

“This pharos,” he says, “has not its like in the world for skill of construction or for solidity; since, to say nothing of the fact that it is built of excellent stone of the kind called kedan, the layers of these stones are united by molten lead, and the joints are so adherent that the whole is indissoluble, though the waves of the sea from the north incessantly beat against it. From the ground to the middle gallery or stage the measurement is exactly seventy fathoms, and from this gallery to the summit, twenty-six.[9]

“We ascend to the summit by a staircase constructed in the interior, which is as broad as those ordinarily erected in towers. This staircase terminates at about half-way, and thence the building becomes much narrower. In the interior, and under the staircase, some chambers have been built. Starting from the gallery, the pharos rises to its summit with a continually increasing contraction, until at last it may be folded round by a man’s arms. From this same gallery we recommence our ascent by a flight of steps of much narrower dimensions than the lower staircase: in every part it is pierced with windows to give light to persons making use of it, and to assist them in gaining a proper footing as they ascend.

“This edifice,” adds Edrisi, “is singularly remarkable, as much on account of its height as of its massiveness; it is of exceeding utility, because its fire burns night and day for the guidance of navigators: they are well acquainted with the fire, and steer their course in consequence, for it is visible at the distance of a day’s sail (!). During the night it shines like a star; by day you may distinguish its smoke.”

This latter passage shows that if any better mode of illumination had once been in use, as we are inclined to believe, it had been discontinued, or its secret forgotten, by the degenerate successors of the Alexandrian Greeks.

Edrisi remarks, in language resembling Pliny’s, that from a distance the light of the pharos was so like a star which had risen upon the horizon, that the mariners, mistaking it, directed their prows towards the other coast, and were often wrecked upon the sands of Marmorica.

Montfaucon also records this unfortunate peculiarity, which, however, is not unknown in our own days. More than one of the lighthouses intended to warn the seaman as he approaches a dangerous rock or headland now carries a couple of lights: one at the summit, and one below; that the upper may not be mistaken for a star.[10]

In reference to the Alexandrian pharos, Montfaucon remarks that the stories related by the Arabs and European travellers must be very cautiously examined. For instance: we are told that Sostrates rested its foundations on four huge crab-fish made of glass (grands cancres de verre); a fable so gross, says one Benedictine, that it is not worth the trouble of refuting it, though Isaac Vossius declares it to be recorded in an ancient manuscript which he himself possessed.

MODERN LIGHTHOUSE OF ALEXANDRIA.

Nor, continues Montfaucon, are we more disposed to credit the story told by Martinus Crusius, in his Turco-Græciæ, book viii.—on the authority of the Arabs—that Alexander the Great fixed on the summit of the tower a mirror so skilfully made that it revealed the approach of hostile fleets at a distance of one hundred leagues, and that after the Macedonian hero’s death it was broken by a Greek, named Sodores, while the guardians of the lighthouse slept. But, unfortunately for this romantic fiction, the pharos was not built until after the time of Alexander the Great.

CHAPTER III.
THE “TOUR D’ORDRE” OF BOULOGNE.

Boulogne is the ancient Bononia or Gesoriacum, “a naval place,” says Ptolemæus, “of the Morini,” and distant from the British coast, according to Pliny, about fifty millia passuum. Pliny probably measured from Boulogne to Rutupiæ (or Richborough), where the Romans had a fortified port, and which was their usual landing-place from Gallia. His measurement, however, exaggerates the actual distance between these places.

It was from Boulogne the Emperor Claudius embarked on his expedition to Britain; and it was at Boulogne the Emperor Caligula bade his soldiers collect the shells as spoils of ocean, and decreed himself a triumph for victories he had only won in imagination. As a more durable monument of his achievements, he erected, according to Suetonius, a lofty tower; the extraordinary structure which, under the name of the Tour d’Ordre, for centuries extorted the admiration of men.

Built as a memorial of imperial vain-gloriousness, when was it first converted into a work of public utility? When did the triumphal tower become a lighthouse? To these questions we can offer no authoritative reply. But it seems probable that in A.D. 191 a light was blazing from its summit; for a bronze medal of Commodus—on which he is entitled Britannicus, in memory of his lieutenant’s victories over the Britons—represents the pharos and its fire, and the departure of a Roman fleet.

Planted at the usual point of embarkation for Britain, the tower of Boulogne was carefully preserved so long as the Roman sway endured. In 811 it was repaired, according to Eginhard, by the great Western emperor, Charles, who was then preparing an expedition against the Norman pirates. As late as the seventeenth century it seems to have been employed as a lighthouse; and thence, according to a popular but certainly erroneous etymology, its ancient name of Turris ardens became, by corruption, Tour d’Ordre. It also served as a fortress, for which it was well adapted by its admirable position and extraordinary massiveness.

In the sixteenth century, while Boulogne was occupied by an English garrison—that is, from 1554 to 1559—the Tour d’Ordre was enclosed by two ramparts, one of brick, the other of earth, and both furnished with artillery. This point was felicitously chosen for the attack or defence of Boulogne, inasmuch as it dominated over the whole town, and commanded both banks of the Liane. Yet the Tour d’Ordre suffered little from the ravages of war, except that its lantern was several times destroyed; and its ruin is wholly due to the neglect of successive magistrates of Boulogne. Shaken at first by the waves, which in high tides dashed furiously against the cliff—then by the subterranean action of springs and watercourses—and, finally, by the imprudent excavation of the adjoining quarries, both the fort and the tower fell down—twice, according to some authorities—thrice, according to others—between 1640 and 1645—along with the portion of the cliff on which they were erected.

In the interval between these sad events, says Egger, nothing was attempted in preservation of the remains of our precious monument, which, however, in its ruined condition, still served as a night-beacon for ships entering the port. When at length it perished utterly, the municipality of Boulogne considered themselves released from the dues which, for this portion of their territory, they had paid, in virtue of an ancient right, to the Seigneur de Bainethun. As the soil no longer existed, the tenants thought themselves freed from all obligations towards its proprietor. The latter resorted to legal proceedings, and judgment was given in his favour, July the 1st, 1656. Inasmuch as the wise men of Boulogne had by their own negligence caused the loss which they put forward as an excuse for denying their debt, they were condemned to pay, as before, two thousand herrings, fresh and dry, to be delivered at Arras, Amiens, and other towns, according to the seigneur’s pleasure—or to restore the ground to its ancient condition, and abandon to the Seigneur de Bainethun the toll which they levy from all fishermen entering the harbour. And there is reason to believe that this tribute of two thousand herrings was paid by the corporation of Boulogne down to the epoch of the French Revolution.

BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF THE TOUR D’ORDRE OF BOULOGNE.
(From an old drawing by Claude Châtillon.)

There are little, if any, remains now extant of this ancient monument, more glorious from the services which for generations it rendered to humanity than from its origin, which only recalled the extravagance and insane ostentation of Caligula; and M. Egger advises us to be cautious how we place our confidence in the representations which have been given of it. The most trustworthy seems to be the drawing executed by Claude Châtillon, engineer to Henry IV., which we here reproduce.

The descriptions which are on record, says M. Renard, are equally unsatisfactory. Still we can pick out of their rhodomontade some few valuable and accurate particulars of its situation, dimensions, and form, and of the materials employed in its construction. These were simply gray and yellow stones, and red bricks, so arranged as to compose an edifice of great solidity and yet of attractive appearance. The tower was situated some two or three hundred yards from the brink of the cliff; it was octagonal; 192 feet in circumference, and about 64 feet in diameter: as with most of the Roman pharoses, each of its twelve stories was a foot and a half narrower than the story immediately below it, so that it assumed, on the whole, a pyramidal shape. We are told that its height was about equal to its circumference, or, in round numbers, 200 feet—which seems, as Egger remarks, an extraordinary elevation for a lighthouse, already situated on a cliff 100 feet above the sea-level. According to M. J. F. Henry, its height was about 124 feet. However this may be, each story had on the south side an opening like a gate. As late as the beginning of the seventeenth century there might still be seen three vaulted chambers, one above the other, connected by an inner flight of stairs, and probably intended for the lodging of the keepers.

As for the place where the fire or light was kindled, we are entirely left to conjecture; but from the fact that the chroniclers of the ninth century assert that the summit was repaired with a view to prepare it for the signal-fires, there seems reason to believe that before this restoration they were kindled in a chamber on the uppermost story.

M. Egger puts forward the supposition that carefully directed excavations might lead to the discovery of important remains. And looking to the arguments by which he supports his hypothesis, we are disposed to accept it as very plausible. It is to be regretted that France possesses no archæological associations to undertake the superintendence and prosecute the study of her memorials of antiquity. With all her passion for national aggrandizement, she proves herself strangely neglectful of her past, and the educated classes of France exhibit little of that interest in archæological and antiquarian pursuits which is shown by the scholars and gentry of England. Yet on every ground it is desirable that a nation’s past should never be divorced from its present; that the continuity of national life should, as far as possible, be preserved unbroken; and much may be done for the furtherance of so desirable an object by a due regard to the monuments erected by our forefathers.

The Commission des Phares has raised, however, in the place of the Tour d’Ordre, a worthy substitute. In 1835 it established at Boulogne a red light, fixed, and two other fixed lights, the first of which shed its radiance for four, and the second and third for nine miles; ample illumination this for a portion of the French coast which is already lighted, at Cape Grisnez, by a powerful apparatus, whose lustre extends as far as twenty-two miles, and at Pointe d’Alpreck, by a lighthouse visible for twelve miles.

CHAPTER IV.
THE TOWER AT DOVER.

The summit of the lofty down at Dover, now crowned by the famous castle, with its Norman keep and towers, was used as a military post from a very remote antiquity. There can be little doubt that the Britons here kept watch and ward: that it was the site of a Roman stronghold, we know from indisputable evidence. A circular entrenchment of Roman work is still extant, and so too are the remains of the Roman lighthouse, whose steady blaze lighted the imperial galleys as they hovered about the port, or guided the British oyster-boats returning from their market at Boulogne.

With the history of the stronghold, however, we have nothing to do. It is the pharos which attracts our steps, and induces us to ascend the steep acclivity. A recent antiquary is of opinion that there were two lights; one on the eastern, and the other on the western edge of the hill. The ruins of the latter are so shapeless and indistinct that no description of them could interest the reader, or enable him to picture to his “mind’s eye” the form and structure of the ancient edifice. Of the former enough remains to assist our imagination very materially.

THE TOWER AT DOVER.

It is still, says Mr. Puckle,[11] a massive shell: the inner face of its walls vertical and squared, the outside with a tendency to a conical form, which was probably at one time much more distinct, allowing for the quantities of external masonry and facing which by degrees must have fallen or been hewn away. The basement only is of Roman work; the octagon chamber above having been added in the reign of Henry VIII. The dimensions are about fourteen feet square.

The following description we borrow from Mr. Puckle’s learned monogram:—

Except fragments here and there, he says, such as might have been picked up along the shore, the materials used in the pharos are few and uniform throughout; each having its own peculiar character, quite distinct from any supposed similar materials of subsequent date.

“1. Tufa: A substance freely used by the Romans wherever obtainable, and always considered to mark their work as certainly as if dated and recorded in some historical document. Quantities of it may still be dug in parts of the valley of Dover, by the river. It was squared up, and used in tolerably regular courses of blocks; those inside showing a fair and even facing, hard, and little friable either by age or weather.

“2. The concrete, or mortar: This is of two kinds, found at two levels of the lower mass of the tower. A small portion has been laid in a pale, tawny-coloured mortar, mixed in the proportion of four parts of sharp grit to one of lime. The greater part, however, has been carried up with the pink or salmon-coloured mortar, peculiar to Roman work, and mixed in the proportion of one part of lime to four of more or less finely-pounded Roman brick. It is nothing like so hard as the concrete found (for instance) lining the Roman baths discovered under the west end of the nave of St. Mary’s parish-church; but it is too peculiar a material not to be recognized wherever it appears, identifying its Roman make.

“3. The red tile-brick: This, again, is always esteemed a very distinctive element in materials of Roman building; but it requires some attention to distinguish justly between the genuine Roman production and subsequent imitations of the same thing. Without digressing into the habits of a Roman brick-yard, it may suffice just to refer to what is described in well-known ancient authorities, as the careful process observed in the making of Roman tile-brick. A very pure and smooth clay was selected, and so treated as to expel as much as possible all gritty and non-homogeneous ingredients. Reduced to something like the fineness and consistency of dough, it underwent a treatment not very different from that of the dough itself; being laboriously wrought and tempered by hand or otherwise, like bread being kneaded in its trough; it was then shaped off in flat blocks of the various sizes employed. The sizes vary considerably as found in different places; but those commonly seen along the Kentish coast in bonding-courses, or the construction of arches, are something over a foot square, by about two inches in thickness. They are generally more or less deeply scored on the under face, either in a rude pattern, or simply with straight or wavy lines, making their hold on hard mortar very tenacious; though these are not unfailing marks of Roman brick.”

Such are the materials of which the Roman pharos was constructed; materials identical with those which compose the Tour d’Ordre at Boulogne. When it was first disused as a lighthouse, it is impossible, to say; but as its elevation must have constantly enveloped it in mists, and rendered its fires useless, we should opine that it was not employed after the Conquest. In course of time it was devoted to military purposes, its lower chamber being converted into a guard-room; and of late years it has been appropriated as a government store-house. Lights are now established on the piers of Dover Harbour, and with those of the South Foreland on the English coast, and of Cape Grisnez and Boulogne on the French coast, amply suffice for the due illumination of the Straits.

It is much to be desired that every care should be taken for the preservation from further injury of so interesting a relic of Roman times as the pharos at Dover.

CHAPTER V.
THE COLOSSUS OF RHODES.

“Men receive with indifference from one another, and without examination, the traditions of past events, even of events connected with the history of their own country. Thus, for the most part, in their indolence to search out the truth, they accept at once all the fables and exaggerations forced upon their notice.”

It is thus that Thucydides expresses himself; and though his observation is two thousand years old, it has lost nothing of its point or truth.

A striking example of its applicability is afforded by the striking illustration now before us;—a representation of the Colossus of Rhodes, according to the generally received idea that this celebrated statue of Apollo was planted at the entrance to the harbour of Rhodes, where it served as a pharos; and that it was of such surpassing magnitude that ships under full sail could pass between its gigantic limbs.

But there is no evidence that the Colossus ever served as a pharos; at least, no ancient author asserts that such was its employment. The first writer who converted it into a beacon-light was Urbain Chevreau, an industrious but not particularly able compiler of the seventeenth century; but he neglects to say from what source he obtained his information.

In the second place, the attitude traditionally ascribed to the Rhodian Colossus—an attitude neither graceful nor dignified—is also a pure conceit of comparatively modern times. It is, however, more ancient than the former, since it dates from the sixteenth century, when Blaise de Vigenère, the translator of Philostratus, transformed the masterpiece of Chares, the pupil of Lysippus, into a fantastic impossibility. Where he, too, obtained his information, no one can ascertain; for on this important point he preserved the prudent silence of Chevreau.

In an interesting paper, published by the French Académie des Inscriptions, the Comte de Caylus proves—1st, That the Rhodian Apollo was not constructed at the mouth of the harbour; and 2nd, That no ships ever passed between its legs. He did not satisfy everybody, however, and reference was made to the pages of the geographer Strabo. It was found that he made no mention of the remarkable circumstance narrated by Vigenère. He cites a fragment of an epigram in iambic metre, in which the name of the sculptor, Chares of Lindos, is mentioned, and the dimensions of his work—namely, seventy cubits—are given. Strabo adds that the Colossus, in his time, lay prostrate on the ground—overthrown by an earthquake, and with shattered knees; and that the Rhodians had not restored it to its position because forbidden by an oracle.

IMAGINARY RESTORATION OF THE COLOSSUS OF RHODES.

Turning to Pliny, we find that he confirms all the statements of Strabo, and fixes the date of the fall of the statue at fifty-six years after its erection. Though overthrown, he says, it is still a marvel. Few men can embrace its thumb; its fingers are larger than those of statues. Its disfigured limbs appear so many vast caverns; and in the interior the enormous stones are seen with which they had been weighted. It cost, says Pliny, 300 talents; being exactly the sum of money which the Rhodians plundered from the war-ships abandoned before their city by Demetrius, when he raised the siege, after protracting it for many months.

Philo of Byzantium, a mechanician who lived about the end of the third century B.C., and to whom is attributed a brief treatise on the “Seven Wonders of the World,” describes at some length the Rhodian Colossus, but makes no allusion to its supposed straddling attitude, or to its employment as a pharos. The same silence is preserved by another historian of the Seven Wonders, Lucius Ampellius. But as he possessed, like Chevreau and Vigenère, an inventive faculty, this author says: “At Rhodes is the colossal statue of the Sun, placed on a marble column, with a chariot drawn by four horses.”

Putting aside the embellishments of tradition, let us inquire what this monument really was:—

The brazen statue of Helios, popularly called the Colossus, was seventy cubits in height; its gigantic size may be inferred from the fact that few could compass one of its thumbs with their arms.[12] Fifty-six years after its erection it was overthrown by an earthquake (circa B.C. 224), and as already related, the Rhodians would not attempt its restoration, though Ptolemæus offered them a contribution of 3000 talents, because prohibited by an oracle. And yet later authorities describe it as standing erect; and the Emperor Commodus, among his other extravagances, ordered his bust to be set upon its summit.

In 672 Rhodes was captured by the Saracens, and their leader, one of the lieutenants of Othman, sold the brass of which the famous statue was composed, to a Jewish merchant of Edessa, for a sum, it is said, of £36,000. The bargain must have been very profitable, if it be true that the materials thus acquired loaded a thousand camels.

A few words may be added in reference to the sculptor of the Colossus. According to Pliny, he was a pupil of Lysippus, a native of Lindos, and named Chares. Such, too, is the evidence of Strabo and the anonymous author of the Greek epigram. But in the writings of the Pyrrhonist, Sextus Empiricus, we find the honour of the achievement ascribed to one Laches. According to Sextus, Chares, discovering that he was cheated of half the sum of money promised for the completion of the statue, killed himself in despair; and Laches, succeeding him, perfected the glorious work. The authority of Pliny and Strabo, however, seems to us preferable to that of Sextus: the Colossus was truly the work of Chares, alone and unaided, and to him belongs the glory of having, as Philo of Byzantium says, “Made a god like to a god, and endowed the world with a second sun.”

BOOK II.
THE SCIENCE OF LIGHTHOUSES.

CHAPTER I.
HOW THEY ARE ADMINISTERED.

From antiquity we return to our own time, with the view of examining the present condition of our coast-defences, so far as they include the lighthouse, the lightship, the beacon, and the buoy.

To England belongs the praise, among modern nations, of having first understood all the importance of lighthouses, and of having made their erection, mode of illumination, and maintenance, a matter of national concern.

The direction of the Imperial lighthouses is confided to three Boards—one for each of the three kingdoms:—

1st, The Corporation of the Trinity House of Deptford Strand, who possess the control of all the English lighthouses;—

2nd, The Corporation of the Commissioners of Northern Lights, to whom is intrusted the management of the lighthouses of Scotland; and,—

3rd, The Corporation for Preserving and Improving the Port of Dublin, who administer the coast-illumination of Ireland.

The history of the Trinity House is but imperfectly known, owing to the destruction of a considerable portion of its archives by fire in 1714. It was founded by a charter of Henry VIII.—who may almost be called the Father of English Navigation—on the 20th of March 1512, and received the appellation of the “Brotherhood of the Trinity House of Deptford of Strand and St. Clement,” This document opens with a curious declaration:—“Out of the sincere and complete love and devotion which we have for the very glorious and indivisible Trinity, and also for Saint Clement the Confessor, His Majesty grants and gives license for the establishment of a corporation, or perpetual brotherhood, to certain of his subjects and their associates, men or women.”

At the outset, the duty of the members of the guild seems simply to have been to pray for the souls of sailors drowned at sea, and for the lives of those who were battling against the tempest. After a while their functions increased in number, and, assuredly, in importance. The charters which they received from Elizabeth, James I., Charles II., and James II., placed in their hands the general control of the mercantile marine, and even, under certain conditions, of the royal fleet. The illumination of dangerous parts of the English coast necessarily became a portion of their mission of patriotic beneficence. But the reader must not suppose that no lighthouses burned along our shores until the Trinity House was established. Rude signal-lights and beacon-fires already blazed on rocky headlands, and at the mouths of the ports most frequented by our shipping; but a greater number of lighthouses became necessary, and on a more perfect system of organization, as English commerce in the seventeenth century assumed its extraordinary development.

But this was not all. The constructors of private lights and beacons were not animated by a pure unadulterated zeal for the public welfare; they levied excessive tolls on the vessels which profited by their guiding rays. To erect and maintain a lighthouse constituted an industry of so profitable a character that the privileges in virtue of which they existed, and which were nearly all found in the hands of the Trinity House, excited a very widespread feeling of jealousy and discontent. The legislation which had taken place on this subject was rigorously examined, and as a result these privileges disappeared. This important discovery was made in the reign of James I. The king found himself specially interested in making it; for, by its return to the crown, the monopoly of licensing the erection of lighthouses would have largely increased his private income.

The pretensions put forward by James I. greatly embarrassed the judges charged with the examination of the rights of the Trinity House; and the inquiry might have lasted for years had it not been abruptly concluded, after our English fashion, by a compromise. It was decided that the fraternity of the Trinity House should be authorized to erect lighthouses, but that the crown should enjoy the same privilege in virtue of the common law. From this decision it naturally came to pass that, instead of remaining, as Elizabeth had designed, the exclusive property of the Trinity House, the lease and monopoly of the fires lighted on the coasts were granted or sold by the sovereign to certain private individuals.

As a result of this decision, says M. Esquiros, in his lively manner, there was not a bare and desolate angle of rock in the kingdom which was not coveted by speculators as a site for a tower and a beacon-fire. Lord Grenville, an able statesman and shrewd man of the world, wrote in his diary in the form of a note or memorandum: “Mem. To watch the moment when the King is in a good temper, to ask of him a lighthouse.” It would be difficult to estimate the amount realized by those persons whom the king favoured with such marks of his goodwill; but from the luxurious state they maintained it is evident their profits must have been immense.

We may readily conjecture the evil results of such a system. Many of the lights were deficient in power; others were never kindled; yet in every case heavy tolls were exacted from passing vessels. At length the scandal grew intolerable, and in the reign of William IV. Parliament interfered to establish a certain uniformity in the administration of lighthouses, and to provide for a considerable reduction of the dues. All the interests of the Crown were made over to the Trinity House, which, moreover, was empowered to buy up the lighthouses belonging to private individuals; and the Corporation having always acted with singular zeal, efficiency, and public spirit, the system of our coast-defences has gradually attained to a remarkable degree of completeness.

A word or two may now be said on the interior organization of the Trinity House. It includes two bodies of associates: the Elder, and the Younger Brothers. At first no such distinction existed; but the pretext put forward to justify the exclusion of the Younger Brethren from sharing in the conduct of the Society was, that they showed too much fervour at its meetings. The Younger Brethren, now-a-days, are chosen by the Council on the motion of one of the Elder Brethren. Their number was formerly unlimited. It cannot be too large, say the ancient charters, because our seamen represent the strength of the nation. At the present time there are 360.

The Elder Brethren, 31 in number, are chosen from the Younger. No one can offer himself as a candidate if he has not first undergone an examination, and served for at least four years as captain on board a Queen’s ship or a merchant-vessel. On his election he pays £30 as a contribution to the poor-box, and an equal sum for a complimentary dinner.

The Elder Brethren, however, are divided into honorary and active members. From a very early period, the Company recognized the advantage of including in its ranks the most illustrious living Englishmen, even though they should in no wise be concerned with navigation. In 1673, the Bishop of Rochester, having preached before the Corporation on Trinity Thursday, was admitted a member. For seventeen years William Pitt occupied the honourable position of Master, which was afterwards filled by William IV., when Duke of Clarence. Wellington, Prince Albert, and Lord Palmerston, formerly belonged to the Corporation; and, at present, the Prince of Wales, the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, and Earl Russell, are among its members, while the Duke of Edinburgh officiates as Master. These honorary members, limited to eleven, do not engage in the administrative duties of the Trinity House; but they add to its dignity, and serve to connect it with the highest classes of English society. In fact, it would be difficult to name an association which is more truly national in character.

The twenty active members, on whom the real burden of the work of the Corporation rests, are experienced captains of men-of-war or merchant-ships, who have retired from service. They are formed into six committees, each of which has its separate functions; for, in addition to its superintendence of the lighting of our coasts, the Trinity Board examines our pilots, and delivers them their certificates; watches over the ballasting of ships in the Thames; establishes and keeps in order the various sea-marks; examines the scholars of Christ’s Hospital, who are intended for a maritime career; collects the revenues; and superintends the boarders in the houses of refuge which belong to the Corporation. Its charters, moreover, confer upon it the right of punishing seamen for mutiny, ill conduct, or desertion; but this power is now-a-days never exercised.

The story of our two other Corporations may be briefly told. The Commission of Northern Lights, incorporated in 1786, by an Act of George III., is composed of two magistrates appointed by the Crown, of the sheriffs of the sea-board counties, of the provosts of certain royal burghs, and of the provost of Greenock.

The Board of Ballast of Dublin, which has under its charge the lightage of the Irish coast, consists of merchants, bankers, magistrates, railway directors; and the only seaman associated with them is a coast-guard officer. It is subordinate to the Board of Trade.

The Trinity House, Northern Lights, and Ballast Board are under the control of the Board of Trade. Before new lighthouses are erected by the Trinity House, they must be sanctioned by the Board of Trade; and before Scotch or Irish lighthouses are erected, the Trinity House are consulted, and in the event of that Board differing with the Irish or Scotch, the Board of Trade give their decision, which is final. It is to be regretted that there should still exist a considerable number of lighthouses which are under the control of about one hundred and seventy local authorities;[13] and every person who appreciates the importance of securing a vigorous and able administration will join us in expressing a hope that before long the lightage of the United Kingdom may form the subject of efficacious legislative action.

The number and nature of the lights of the United Kingdom are as follows:—

In England: lighthouses, lights on piers, harbour lights, &c., 237. Add 49 lightships—total, 286.

In Scotland: lighthouses, lights on piers, harbour lights, &c., 134. Add 1 lightship—total, 135.

In Ireland: lighthouses, lights on piers, harbour lights, &c., 85. Add 8 lightships—total, 93.

The general result for the United Kingdom is, that we have 456 lighthouses, harbour lights, local lights, &c., and 58 lightships. Total, 514.

We may compare these figures with those of the French lights.

Now France has 224 lighthouses, but no floating lights. The proportion of lights to the coast-line is,[14] therefore, as follows:—

We may here explain the French system of administration, which, however, cannot be said to equal our own in efficiency or comprehensiveness, nor to surpass it in economy. At all events, the foregoing figures show that the English coast is far more numerously lighted than the French.

The French system dates from the beginning of the present century, and is administered by the Department of Ponts et Chaussées, composed of naval officers, hydrographic engineers, members of the French Institute, and other persons acquainted with the sciences which bear upon navigation. The general direction of the service is committed to the Inspector-General of Ponts et Chaussées, who has under his orders a certain number of engineers, in each maritime district, charged with the supervision, construction, and administration of lighthouses. This board or directorate has its own manufactories in Paris, where experiments are tried with lighting apparatus, and where the artisan receives all the information necessary to guide him in the construction of every part of the apparatus, such as the calculation of angles, prisms, curves, lenses, and the like. One of the best results of this centralization is the economy it insures; the entire cost of the French service not exceeding £40,000 per annum. It may be added, that to France, as to the United States, belongs the praise of having looked upon the lightage of her coasts, not as a source of public or private revenue, but as a work of humanity. We trust that England, before any long period has elapsed, will abolish the tolls now levied upon shipping for the maintenance of her lighthouses. We admit that they have been considerably reduced; but they still remain a burden upon commerce, and a burden which commerce ought not to bear.

TRINITY HOUSE.

Let us now pay a visit to the Trinity House, in London, taking as our guide the shrewd and lively author of “The English at Home.”

Opposite the Tower of London, he says, or, more strictly speaking, opposite the ancient fosses of that fortress, now converted into an agreeable promenade, extends a fine open area of green turf, edged round with shrubs; and, in the rear of this square, rises an edifice which seems purposedly to isolate itself from the noise of the multitude—it is the Trinity House.

The abode of this important maritime Society was formerly situated in Water Lane, whence it was driven out by two successive conflagrations; otherwise, could any better choice be made than the immediate neighbourhood of the Thames, of the great docks, and of the forest of masts which crowds it for many miles, like the parks or plantations of great trees which surround at a distance the manorial mansions of the English aristocracy?

The principal features of the edifice, erected in 1793 by James Wyatt, are, a massive basement, surmounted by a single story enriched with Doric columns and pilasters, the whole built of Portland stone. On the façade, numerous genii, which, with round faces and puffed-out cheeks, might be taken for so many cupids, hold in their hands anchors, compasses, and marine charts. These emblems, however, sufficiently indicate the character of the institution.

The ground-floor in the interior is occupied by offices; the upper contains some noble apartments, to which admission can only be procured by special favour. A noble vestibule leads to a double staircase of stone, whose two branches, after ascending in different directions, unite in a central landing-place, enriched with ornaments and sculptures. On the right, in a semicircle described by the wall, is framed a large oil painting, by Gainsborough’s nephew, representing a body of past “Elder Brethren,” grouped together, and in uniform. On the left, in panels of glass, are inscribed the names of various benefactors of the establishment, and the amount of their bequests. Massive doors of mahogany introduce the visitor into the Board Room, whose ceiling, painted in 1796, by a French artist named Rigaud, and loaded with sprawling allegories, exhibits the Prosperity of England as springing from Navigation and Commerce. The British Neptune advances in triumph, surrounded by sea-horses, and attended by Tritons. In one hand he carries a trident, in the other the shield of the United Kingdom. His march is protected by cannons and other instruments of war, while genii hovering round him wave the standard of Great Britain. The standard may pass muster; but cannons! Is not this an abuse of anachronism even for a picture? On the other side, Britannia, seated on a rock, receives in her bosom the products of different countries. Sea nymphs, bending under their weight of riches, hasten from every quarter, and seamen spread upon the shores of England the fruits of an extended commerce. Children wave to and fro their torches in representation of the lights which encircle the coasts of the British Isles, and during the darkness of night direct the movements of her ships.

The walls of this saloon are decorated with portraits of George IV., William IV., and their queens, for royalty itself is no stranger to the annals of the Trinity House, and monarchs honour themselves by figuring among the insignia of the fraternity of which they have been the members and the patrons. The Duke of Wellington’s portrait, by Lucas, is considered the best in existence of the Conqueror of Waterloo. The busts of the Queen and the late Prince Consort, in white marble, by Noble—one of the few living sculptors who have attained to celebrity in England—rest solemnly at the two corners of the mantelpiece. Twenty arm-chairs ranged round a large table shaped like a crescent, and covered with a green cloth, mark the places of the members of the Council at their various meetings. The associates of the Trinity House think, with Ben Jonson, that good repasts encourage brotherly feeling. The dining-room, lighted by a kind of circular lantern which surmounts the ceiling, displays what may very justly be called a quiet and substantial luxury. Here we may remark the bust of William Pitt, by Chantrey; portraits of the Earl of Sandwich, the Duke of Bedford, Sir Francis Drake, and, especially, that of Sir Kenelm Digby, by Vandyke. At regular intervals, some excellent models of lighthouses in relief, preserved under glass, remind the visitor of the all-important object of this ancient Corporation.

The French Lighthouses Commission is not so splendidly lodged as the Trinity Board, nor is its Museum equal to the one at Edinburgh.[15] But, side by side with models of modern lighthouses, are models of the most ancient, from the ungainly tower whose summit was lit up with a rude fire of sea-coal, to the elegant edifice of the Héaux de Bréhat. It also contains numerous examples of all the catoptric or dioptric apparatus which are, or have been, in use, as well as specimens of clocks, buoys, and beacons. The Lighthouse Museum is, finally, the central depôt where experiments are conducted in reference to all the elements of maritime lightage, under the supreme direction of M. Emile Allard, the engineer-in-chief.

CHAPTER II.
GEOGRAPHICAL DISTRIBUTION OF LIGHTHOUSES.

In reference to the military protection of our coasts, the civilian is frequently warned of the necessity of maintaining more than one “line of defence;” a similar necessity exists as regards their complete and satisfactory lightage. We know, too, that at one point a battery is erected; at another, a simple earthwork is pronounced sufficient; at a third, the eye ranges over an intricate combination of forts. The same variety exists in the disposition of those coast-defences which are designed in the interests of secure and peaceful navigation. Follow, with the mind’s eye, the long coast-line of our country, and how many differences we shall note in the situation of its lighthouses, in their mode of construction, their elevation, their system of illumination. Each pharos has, as it were, a speech of its own; each addresses, in significant language, the seaman who turns to it for advice or warning. This points out the entrance to a commodious haven, where, after being much tossed by unquiet waves, the weary mariner may repose in safety; that indicates the site of a perilous rock or sand-bank, on which a storm-driven vessel must assuredly perish. Here we see a noble tower, whose genial rays are visible at a distance of twenty-seven nautical miles; there burns a steady light, whose extent of illumination is restricted to five miles. One is a fixed light, glowing constantly like a brilliant star; another, more mysterious, suddenly flashes forth from the deep darkness, flings over the sea its arrow of flame, and then is again extinguished, to reappear, a few moments later, in the same strange and impressive manner. Nor are all lights of an uniform colour. Some are red, with an intense ruby-like splendour; others white; others, again, are blue or green. This variety in the range and aspect of the “beacon-fires” has, like the variety in the size and position of our forts and batteries, a special object.

The system of lightage generally adopted, says M. Renard, consists in surrounding the coast with three lines of defence; the outmost being composed of lighthouses with a very extensive range. It has justly been deemed of the highest importance to signal to the mariner the proximity of the land, since it is in the waters near the coast that navigation is exposed to the greatest dangers. The littoral presents a number of capes, promontories, and headlands, more or less projecting beyond the general level, as well as islets, and reefs, and shallows, which require to be carefully avoided. Now, lighthouses of the first class, as we may call them, or “sea-lights,” are usually planted on these promontories or rocks; and along the British shore they are so arranged that it is impossible, except in a dense fog, to arrive in its neighbourhood without catching sight of one or more of them.

THE LIGHTHOUSE ON THE ROCKY HEADLAND.

When he has overpassed the first line of defence, the navigator encounters a second circle—“secondary-lights”—composed of lighthouses of the second and third orders, indicating secondary capes, reefs, and sand-banks, to which it is prudent to give a good offing. When the mouth of a river or the entrance of a port is only accessible by narrow channels, whose direction an experienced and veteran pilot can hardly determine by night, other lights of the same class are placed in the line of the channel, and point out the exact course which should be taken.

Finally, when the ship has arrived near the port which is the goal of her voyage, she perceives lights—“harbour-lights”—upon its piers or breakwaters, which guide her to her much-wished-for berth.

When the best positions for illumination have been selected, the most difficult task is, or rather was, to provide for their easy distinction, so that the sailor may not be misled by too close a resemblance of one to another. Suitable variations and modifications have been, fortunately, supplied by the valuable labours of Fresnel, and of the engineers who have followed in his track.

At first, however, the embarrassment was considerable. Thus, the code laid down by the celebrated French Commission in 1825, admitted of only three characters for lighthouses of the first order: the “fixed light,” the “revolving minute light,” and the “revolving half-minute light.” But it was soon discovered that merchant seamen did not sufficiently heed the differences observed between the intervals of the appearance and disappearance of the latter lights; and the number of lighthouses, moreover, having multiplied beyond all prevision, it became absolutely indispensable to allow of a greater number of distinctive characters.

Now-a-days we recognize five: the “fixed light,” the “flashing light,” the “revolving,” the “intermittent,” and the “double lights in one tower.”

The “flashing light” is that which shows alternately two flashes and two eclipses, or more, in the interval of a minute.

The “flashing light,” the “intermittent,” and the “double lights in one tower” were all first proposed and introduced into Scotland by the late Mr. R. Stevenson.

The lustre of the “revolving light” gradually increases to a maximum, and diminishes to a minimum, until wholly eclipsed, at equal intervals of half a minute, one, two, or three minutes, and sometimes thrice in a minute.

We designate it an “intermittent light” when the ray suddenly appears, remains visible for a moment, and afterwards is again suddenly eclipsed for a brief interval.

With this scientific arrangement before us, it seems strange to recollect that even so lately as the year 1816, the Isle of May light, in the Firth of Forth, consisted of nothing better than a coal-fire. Nor had England made any greater progress in the art of illumination, for the magnificent tower of the Eddystone, says Mr. Stevenson, about fifty years after it came from the hands of Smeaton, could boast of no better light than that derived from a few miserable tallow candles. Nay, so lately as the year 1801, the light at Harwich, in addition to the coal-fires, had a flat plate of rough brass on the landward side, to serve as a reflector! Such methods, continues Mr. Stevenson, were most imperfect, not only in point of efficiency and power, but also as respects the distinction of one light from another; an object which, on a difficult and rugged coast, may be considered as of almost equal importance with the distance at which the lights can be seen.[16]

It must also be remembered that too great a multiplicity of lights would not be less dangerous than a deficiency in number. Were the littoral too abundantly illuminated, the effect produced on the navigator would be that of a continuous and confused line of fire. He would be dazzled by the blaze, and unable to determine the particular point to which he should steer his vessel. Before the Royal Commission of 1861, one witness actually gave it as his opinion that there were too many lights on the English coast, and that the consequence was an increase of collisions, a neglect of the lead, and continual shipwrecks. He added, however, that without the increase of light, steamers could not run in and out of ports at night. The extent of illumination being necessary, the only method of reducing the danger of confusion to a minimum is that adopted by our engineers—a clear and distinct variety of lights.

CHAPTER III.
THE ILLUMINATING APPARATUS OF LIGHTHOUSES.

It has very justly been said that the object of placing in a lighthouse an illuminating apparatus is, that, whether it be constructed of glass or of metal, it may bend the rays (which would otherwise and naturally proceed in straight lines), and illuminate a hollow sphere, so that those rays which would otherwise be thrown upon the sky, and thereby wasted, may be made to fall on points at sea, where they will be clearly visible. If the light is to be a fixed one, intended to be seen all round, and from the horizon to the base of the light-tower, the upper rays issuing from an illuminating apparatus must be directed downwards, and the lower rays upwards, so as to increase the illumination. If it is desired to light up a narrow belt of the sea, extending from the horizon to the base of the lighthouse, all the rays must be bent laterally; or they may all be concentrated and thrown upon one or more spots of larger or smaller size, according as the light may be needed—as in the case of fixed lights placed at the end of narrow channels, and of revolving lights which are made visible all round by causing the lenses and reflectors to revolve about the source of light, or with that source about a centre.[17]

Two methods have been employed for the purpose of throwing light in the desired direction: first, by silvered parabolic reflectors, which is called the Catoptric System; second, by the employment of lenses of a peculiar construction, which is known as the Dioptric (or Refracting) System.

Occasionally these two systems are combined, as in the ordinary Catadioptric, and in Mr. Stevenson’s admirable Holophotal arrangement, whether Catoptric or Dioptric.

Before describing them, however, it will be desirable to offer a brief history of lighthouse illumination.

It was at a comparatively recent epoch that wood and coal fires were for the first time replaced by candles, and the open summit of the tower covered in with glass. About the end of the eighteenth century, for these insufficient producers of light, lamps were substituted, whose lustre was directed to a distance by reflectors of polished metal. Many of the lighthouses of this epoch were provided with the species of apparatus here described; among others, those of Capes de l’Ailly and de la Hève, the isles Rhé and Oléron. In 1782, an identical mode of lightage was established at Cordouan; but though this lighthouse did not include less than twenty-four lamps, accompanied each by a reflector, it diffused so feeble a light, that the seamen immediately insisted on a return to the barbarous system of the Middle Ages.

The apparatus of which they complained was, in truth, exceedingly defective; its lamps, differing but little from those which the seven foolish virgins suffered to die out, had broad wicks, and if they produced but little light, by way of compensation they emitted an enormous amount of smoke. It was natural, therefore, that men of science should, with a view to improvement, first direct their attention to the lamp. The pioneer in this course of inquiry was Argand, who, about 1748, contrived to secure “a double current of air;” which consists, as any one may see in the first lamp he meets with, of a wick, shaped like a hollow cylinder, enclosed in a glass tube. The heat caused by the combustion of the oil produces a vigorous draught, which leads to an abundant circulation of air both internally and externally; and air is for the lamp, as for man, the plant, and the animal—life!

Various modifications and improvements of Argand’s system have been successively introduced. The glass tube, for instance, by one inventor, was contracted at a short distance above the burner, so as to project more immediately the current of air upon the flame, and stimulate combustion. In his turn, Carcel bethought himself of supplying the wick with a superabundant quantity of oil, so as to avoid the heating of the burner, and to render the flame more regular; he thus succeeded in keeping the lamps burning for a longer period without a replenishment of the wick.

There then remained the reflectors. Curved in the form of a spherical segment, these received but a small portion of the luminous rays, and rarely returned them in the proper direction. Teulère, the engineer-in-chief of the province of Bordeaux, who was to distinguish himself at a later period by the erection of the Cordouan Tower, was ordered to make an examination of both the lamps and the reflectors, and to study the best means of remedying the evils complained of. His studies resulted in a paper of great interest, published in 1783. To concentrate in a single direction a large portion of the rays which were lost on all sides, he proposed the use of mirrors of perfect polish and a better form. By causing these mirrors to revolve around a lamp—that is, by projecting successively towards every point of the horizon the lustre formed by a large portion of the rays thus collected into a single sheaf—he invented at the same time the eclipse.

It was not at Cordouan, nevertheless, that the system was first applied, but at Dieppe, where the celebrated Borda, having studied Teulère’s paper, had a small revolving apparatus of five parabolic reflectors made[18] in 1784. The apparatus of Cordouan, likewise established by Borda, was not placed in the lighthouse tower until after its restoration by Teulère—that is, in 1790.

This method of lightage was obviously a great improvement, and all the maritime powers hastened to adopt it. As the Catoptric System, it was, until within the last few years, exclusively employed on the coast of England. Though less esteemed in France, its use has not been entirely abandoned; and the French still employ catoptric apparatus for “the illumination of narrow channels, or for harbour-lights; to strengthen in a given direction a light whose range is sufficient for the maritime horizon generally; to illuminate lightships; and for service as provisional appliances.”

CATOTROPIC APPARATUS.

In the accompanying design we represent a plan and elevation of a catoptric apparatus, which is composed, as will be seen, of nine reflectors arranged in groups of threes. A small rotatory machine sets the system in motion, and eclipses at greater or shorter intervals are obtained by the varying speed with which it is worked. The range of the apparatus depends partly on its power, and partly on its position.