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The Project Gutenberg eBook, Records of a Family of Engineers, by Robert
Louis Stevenson
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Records of a Family of Engineers
Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Release Date: November 3, 2010 [eBook #280]
[This file was first posted on July 9, 1995]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RECORDS OF A FAMILY OF ENGINEERS***
</pre>
<p>Transcribed from the 1912 Chatto & Windus edition by David
Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org. Additional proofing by Peter
Barnes.</p>
<h1>RECORDS OF A<br />
FAMILY OF ENGINEERS</h1>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center">ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p0b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Decorative graphic for Chatto & Windus"
title=
"Decorative graphic for Chatto & Windus"
src="images/p0s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center">LONDON</p>
<p style="text-align: center">CHATTO & WINDUS</p>
<p style="text-align: center">1912</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
<h2>INTRODUCTION: THE SURNAME OF STEVENSON</h2>
<p>From the thirteenth century onwards, the name, under the
various disguises of Stevinstoun, Stevensoun, Stevensonne,
Stenesone, and Stewinsoune, spread across Scotland from the mouth
of the Firth of Forth to the mouth of the Firth of Clyde.
Four times at least it occurs as a place-name. There is a
parish of Stevenston in Cunningham; a second place of the name in
the Barony of Bothwell in Lanark; a third on Lyne, above Drochil
Castle; the fourth on the Tyne, near Traprain Law.
Stevenson of Stevenson (co. Lanark) swore fealty to Edward I in
1296, and the last of that family died after the
Restoration. Stevensons of Hirdmanshiels, in Midlothian,
rode in the Bishops’ Raid of Aberlady, served as jurors,
stood bail for neighbours—Hunter of Polwood, for
instance—and became extinct about the same period, or
possibly earlier. A Stevenson of Luthrie and another of
Pitroddie make their bows, give their names, and vanish.
And by the year 1700 it does not appear that any acre of Scots
land was vested in any Stevenson. <a name="citation2a"></a><a
href="#footnote2a" class="citation">[2a]</a></p>
<p>Here is, so far, a melancholy picture of backward progress,
and a family posting towards extinction. But the law
(however administered, and I am bound to aver that, in Scotland,
‘it couldna weel be waur’) acts as a kind of dredge,
and with dispassionate impartiality brings up into the light of
day, and shows us for a moment, in the jury-box or on the
gallows, the creeping things of the past. By these broken
glimpses we are able to trace the existence of many other and
more inglorious Stevensons, picking a private way through the
brawl that makes Scots history. They were members of
Parliament for Peebles, Stirling, Pittenweem, Kilrenny, and
Inverurie. We find them burgesses of Edinburgh; indwellers
in Biggar, Perth, and Dalkeith. Thomas was the forester of
Newbattle Park, Gavin was a baker, John a maltman, Francis a
chirurgeon, and ‘Schir William’ a priest. In
the feuds of Humes and Heatleys, Cunninghams, Montgomeries,
Mures, Ogilvies, and Turnbulls, we find them inconspicuously
involved, and apparently getting rather better than they
gave. Schir William (reverend gentleman) was cruellie
slaughtered on the Links of Kincraig in 1582; James (‘in
the mill-town of Roberton’), murdered in 1590; Archibald
(‘in Gallowfarren’), killed with shots of pistols and
hagbuts in 1608. Three violent deaths in about seventy
years, against which we can only put the case of Thomas, servant
to Hume of Cowden Knowes, who was arraigned with his two young
masters for the death of the Bastard of Mellerstanes in
1569. John (‘in Dalkeith’) stood sentry without
Holyrood while the banded lords were despatching Rizzio
within. William, at the ringing of Perth bell, ran before
Gowrie House ‘with ane sword, and, entering to the yearde,
saw George Craiggingilt with ane twa-handit sword and utheris
nychtbouris; at quilk time James Boig cryit ower ane wynds,
“Awa hame! ye will all be hangit”’—a
piece of advice which William took, and immediately
‘depairtit.’ John got a maid with child to him
in Biggar, and seemingly deserted her; she was hanged on the
Castle Hill for infanticide, June 1614; and Martin, elder in
Dalkeith, eternally disgraced the name by signing witness in a
witch trial, 1661. These are two of our black sheep. <a
name="citation3a"></a><a href="#footnote3a"
class="citation">[3a]</a> Under the Restoration, one
Stevenson was a bailie in Edinburgh, and another the lessee of
the Canonmills. There were at the same period two
physicians of the name in Edinburgh, one of whom, Dr. Archibald,
appears to have been a famous man in his day and
generation. The Court had continual need of him; it was he
who reported, for instance, on the state of Rumbold; and he was
for some time in the enjoyment of a pension of a thousand pounds
Scots (about eighty pounds sterling) at a time when five hundred
pounds is described as ‘an opulent future.’ I
do not know if I should be glad or sorry that he failed to keep
favour; but on 6th January 1682 (rather a cheerless New
Year’s present) his pension was expunged. <a
name="citation4a"></a><a href="#footnote4a"
class="citation">[4a]</a> There need be no doubt, at least,
of my exultation at the fact that he was knighted and recorded
arms. Not quite so genteel, but still in public life, Hugh
was Under-Clerk to the Privy Council, and liked being so
extremely. I gather this from his conduct in September
1681, when, with all the lords and their servants, he took the
woful and soul-destroying Test, swearing it ‘word by word
upon his knees.’ And, behold! it was in vain, for
Hugh was turned out of his small post in 1684. <a
name="citation4b"></a><a href="#footnote4b"
class="citation">[4b]</a> Sir Archibald and Hugh were both
plainly inclined to be trimmers; but there was one witness of the
name of Stevenson who held high the banner of the
Covenant—John, ‘Land-Labourer, <a
name="citation4c"></a><a href="#footnote4c"
class="citation">[4c]</a> in the parish of Daily, in
Carrick,’ that ‘eminently pious man.’ He
seems to have been a poor sickly soul, and shows himself disabled
with scrofula, and prostrate and groaning aloud with fever; but
the enthusiasm of the martyr burned high within him.</p>
<p>‘I was made to take joyfully the spoiling of my goods,
and with pleasure for His name’s sake wandered in deserts
and in mountains, in dens and caves of the earth. I lay
four months in the coldest season of the year in a haystack in my
father’s garden, and a whole February in the open fields
not far from Camragen, and this I did without the least prejudice
from the night air; one night, when lying in the fields near to
the Carrick-Miln, I was all covered with snow in the
morning. Many nights have I lain with pleasure in the
churchyard of Old Daily, and made a grave my pillow; frequently
have I resorted to the old walls about the glen, near to
Camragen, and there sweetly rested.’ The visible band
of God protected and directed him. Dragoons were turned
aside from the bramble-bush where he lay hidden. Miracles
were performed for his behoof. ‘I got a horse and a
woman to carry the child, and came to the same mountain, where I
wandered by the mist before; it is commonly known by the name of
Kellsrhins: when we came to go up the mountain, there came on a
great rain, which we thought was the occasion of the
child’s weeping, and she wept so bitterly, that all we
could do could not divert her from it, so that she was ready to
burst. When we got to the top of the mountain, where the
Lord had been formerly kind to my soul in prayer, I looked round
me for a stone, and espying one, I went and brought it.
When the woman with me saw me set down the stone, she smiled, and
asked what I was going to do with it. I told her I was
going to set it up as my Ebenezer, because hitherto, and in that
place, the Lord had formerly helped, and I hoped would yet
help. The rain still continuing, the child weeping
bitterly, I went to prayer, and no sooner did I cry to God, but
the child gave over weeping, and when we got up from prayer, the
rain was pouring down on every side, but in the way where we were
to go there fell not one drop; the place not rained on was as big
as an ordinary avenue.’ And so great a saint was the
natural butt of Satan’s persecutions. ‘I
retired to the fields for secret prayer about mid-night.
When I went to pray I was much straitened, and could not get one
request, but “Lord pity,” “Lord help”;
this I came over frequently; at length the terror of Satan fell
on me in a high degree, and all I could say even then
was—“Lord help.” I continued in the duty
for some time, notwithstanding of this terror. At length I
got up to my feet, and the terror still increased; then the enemy
took me by the arm-pits, and seemed to lift me up by my
arms. I saw a loch just before me, and I concluded he
designed to throw me there by force; and had he got leave to do
so, it might have brought a great reproach upon religion. <a
name="citation7a"></a><a href="#footnote7a"
class="citation">[7a]</a> But it was otherwise ordered, and
the cause of piety escaped that danger. <a
name="citation7b"></a><a href="#footnote7b"
class="citation">[7b]</a></p>
<p>On the whole, the Stevensons may be described as decent,
reputable folk, following honest trades—millers, maltsters,
and doctors, playing the character parts in the Waverley Novels
with propriety, if without distinction; and to an orphan looking
about him in the world for a potential ancestry, offering a plain
and quite unadorned refuge, equally free from shame and
glory. John, the land-labourer, is the one living and
memorable figure, and he, alas! cannot possibly be more near than
a collateral. It was on August 12, 1678, that he heard Mr.
John Welsh on the Craigdowhill, and ‘took the heavens,
earth, and sun in the firmament that was shining on us, as also
the ambassador who made the offer, and <i>the clerk who raised
the psalms</i>, to witness that I did give myself away to the
Lord in a personal and perpetual covenant never to be
forgotten’; and already, in 1675, the birth of my direct
ascendant was registered in Glasgow. So that I have been
pursuing ancestors too far down; and John the land-labourer is
debarred me, and I must relinquish from the trophies of my house
his <i>rare soul-strengthening and comforting cordial</i>.
It is the same case with the Edinburgh bailie and the miller of
the Canonmills, worthy man! and with that public character, Hugh
the Under-Clerk, and, more than all, with Sir Archibald, the
physician, who recorded arms. And I am reduced to a family
of inconspicuous maltsters in what was then the clean and
handsome little city on the Clyde.</p>
<p>The name has a certain air of being Norse. But the story
of Scottish nomenclature is confounded by a continual process of
translation and half-translation from the Gaelic which in olden
days may have been sometimes reversed. Roy becomes Reid;
Gow, Smith. A great Highland clan uses the name of
Robertson; a sept in Appin that of Livingstone; Maclean in
Glencoe answers to Johnstone at Lockerby. And we find such
hybrids as Macalexander for Macallister. There is but one
rule to be deduced: that however uncompromisingly Saxon a name
may appear, you can never be sure it does not designate a
Celt. My great-grandfather wrote the name <i>Stevenson</i>
but pronounced it <i>Steenson</i>, after the fashion of the
immortal minstrel in <i>Redgauntlet</i>; and this elision of a
medial consonant appears a Gaelic process; and, curiously enough,
I have come across no less than two Gaelic forms: <i>John
Macstophane cordinerius in Crossraguel</i>, 1573, and <i>William
M’Steen</i> in Dunskeith (co. Ross), 1605. Stevenson,
Steenson, Macstophane, M’Steen: which is the original?
which the translation? Or were these separate creations of
the patronymic, some English, some Gaelic? The curiously
compact territory in which we find them seated—Ayr, Lanark,
Peebles, Stirling, Perth, Fife, and the Lothians—would seem
to forbid the supposition. <a name="citation9a"></a><a
href="#footnote9a" class="citation">[9a]</a></p>
<p>‘<span class="smcap">Stevenson</span>—or according
to tradition of one of the proscribed of the clan MacGregor, who
was born among the willows or in a hill-side
sheep-pen—“Son of my love,” a heraldic bar
sinister, but history reveals a reason for the birth among the
willows far other than the sinister aspect of the name’:
these are the dark words of Mr. Cosmo Innes; but history or
tradition, being interrogated, tells a somewhat tangled
tale. The heir of Macgregor of Glenorchy, murdered about
1858 by the Argyll Campbells, appears to have been the original
‘Son of my love’; and his more loyal clansmen took
the name to fight under. It may be supposed the story of
their resistance became popular, and the name in some sort
identified with the idea of opposition to the Campbells.
Twice afterwards, on some renewed aggression, in 1502 and 1552,
we find the Macgregors again banding themselves into a sept of
‘Sons of my love’; and when the great disaster fell
on them in 1603, the whole original legend reappears, and we have
the heir of Alaster of Glenstrae born ‘among the
willows’ of a fugitive mother, and the more loyal clansmen
again rallying under the name of Stevenson. A story would
not be told so often unless it had some base in fact; nor (if
there were no bond at all between the Red Macgregors and the
Stevensons) would that extraneous and somewhat uncouth name be so
much repeated in the legends of the Children of the Mist.</p>
<p>But I am enabled, by my very lively and obliging
correspondent, Mr. George A. Macgregor Stevenson of New York, to
give an actual instance. His grandfather,
great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather, and
great-great-great-grandfather, all used the names of Macgregor
and Stevenson as occasion served; being perhaps Macgregor by
night and Stevenson by day. The
great-great-great-grandfather was a mighty man of his hands,
marched with the clan in the ‘Forty-five, and returned with
<i>spolia opima</i> in the shape of a sword, which he had wrested
from an officer in the retreat, and which is in the possession of
my correspondent to this day. His great-grandson (the
grandfather of my correspondent), being converted to Methodism by
some wayside preacher, discarded in a moment his name, his old
nature, and his political principles, and with the zeal of a
proselyte sealed his adherence to the Protestant Succession by
baptising his next son George. This George became the
publisher and editor of the <i>Wesleyan Times</i>. His
children were brought up in ignorance of their Highland pedigree;
and my correspondent was puzzled to overhear his father speak of
him as a true Macgregor, and amazed to find, in rummaging about
that peaceful and pious house, the sword of the Hanoverian
officer. After he was grown up and was better informed of
his descent, ‘I frequently asked my father,’ he
writes, ‘why he did not use the name of Macgregor; his
replies were significant, and give a picture of the man:
“It isn’t a good <i>Methodist</i> name. You can
use it, but it will do you no <i>good</i>.” Yet the
old gentleman, by way of pleasantry, used to announce himself to
friends as “Colonel Macgregor.”’</p>
<p>Here, then, are certain Macgregors habitually using the name
of Stevenson, and at last, under the influence of Methodism,
adopting it entirely. Doubtless a proscribed clan could not
be particular; they took a name as a man takes an umbrella
against a shower; as Rob Roy took Campbell, and his son took
Drummond. But this case is different; Stevenson was not
taken and left—it was consistently adhered to. It
does not in the least follow that all Stevensons are of the clan
Alpin; but it does follow that some may be. And I cannot
conceal from myself the possibility that James Stevenson in
Glasgow, my first authentic ancestor, may have had a Highland
<i>alias</i> upon his conscience and a claymore in his back
parlour.</p>
<p>To one more tradition I may allude, that we are somehow
descended from a French barber-surgeon who came to St. Andrews in
the service of one of the Cardinal Beatons. No details were
added. But the very name of France was so detested in my
family for three generations, that I am tempted to suppose there
may be something in it. <a name="citation12a"></a><a
href="#footnote12a" class="citation">[12a]</a></p>
<h2>CHAPTER I: DOMESTIC ANNALS</h2>
<p>It is believed that in 1665, James Stevenson in Nether
Carsewell, parish of Neilston, county of Renfrew, and presumably
a tenant farmer, married one Jean Keir; and in 1675, without
doubt, there was born to these two a son Robert, possibly a
maltster in Glasgow. In 1710, Robert married, for a second
time, Elizabeth Cumming, and there was born to them, in 1720,
another Robert, certainly a maltster in Glasgow. In 1742,
Robert the second married Margaret Fulton (Margret, she called
herself), by whom he had ten children, among whom were Hugh, born
February 1749, and Alan, born June 1752.</p>
<p>With these two brothers my story begins. Their deaths
were simultaneous; their lives unusually brief and full.
Tradition whispered me in childhood they were the owners of an
islet near St. Kitts; and it is certain they had risen to be at
the head of considerable interests in the West Indies, which Hugh
managed abroad and Alan at home, at an age when others are still
curveting a clerk’s stool. My kinsman, Mr. Stevenson
of Stirling, has heard his father mention that there had been
‘something romantic’ about Alan’s marriage:
and, alas! he has forgotten what. It was early at
least. His wife was Jean, daughter of David Lillie, a
builder in Glasgow, and several times ‘Deacon of the
Wrights’: the date of the marriage has not reached me; but
on 8th June 1772, when Robert, the only child of the union, was
born, the husband and father had scarce passed, or had not yet
attained, his twentieth year. Here was a youth making haste
to give hostages to fortune. But this early scene of
prosperity in love and business was on the point of closing.</p>
<p>There hung in the house of this young family, and successively
in those of my grandfather and father, an oil painting of a ship
of many tons burthen. Doubtless the brothers had an
interest in the vessel; I was told she had belonged to them
outright; and the picture was preserved through years of
hardship, and remains to this day in the possession of the
family, the only memorial of my great-grandsire Alan. It
was on this ship that he sailed on his last adventure, summoned
to the West Indies by Hugh. An agent had proved unfaithful
on a serious scale; and it used to be told me in my childhood how
the brothers pursued him from one island to another in an open
boat, were exposed to the pernicious dews of the tropics, and
simultaneously struck down. The dates and places of their
deaths (now before me) would seem to indicate a more scattered
and prolonged pursuit: Hugh, on the 16th April 1774, in Tobago,
within sight of Trinidad; Alan, so late as 26th May, and so far
away as ‘Santt Kittes,’ in the Leeward
Islands—both, says the family Bible, ‘of a
fiver’(!). The death of Hugh was probably announced
by Alan in a letter, to which we may refer the details of the
open boat and the dew. Thus, at least, in something like
the course of post, both were called away, the one twenty-five,
the other twenty-two; their brief generation became extinct,
their short-lived house fell with them; and ‘in these
lawless parts and lawless times’—the words are my
grandfather’s—their property was stolen or became
involved. Many years later, I understand some small
recovery to have been made; but at the moment almost the whole
means of the family seem to have perished with the young
merchants. On the 27th April, eleven days after Hugh
Stevenson, twenty-nine before Alan, died David Lillie, the Deacon
of the Wrights; so that mother and son were orphaned in one
month. Thus, from a few scraps of paper bearing little
beyond dates, we construct the outlines of the tragedy that
shadowed the cradle of Robert Stevenson.</p>
<p>Jean Lillie was a young woman of strong sense, well fitted to
contend with poverty, and of a pious disposition, which it is
like that these misfortunes heated. Like so many other
widowed Scots-women, she vowed her son should wag his head in a
pulpit; but her means were inadequate to her ambition. A
charity school, and some time under a Mr. M’Intyre,
‘a famous linguist,’ were all she could afford in the
way of education to the would-be minister. He learned no
Greek; in one place he mentions that the Orations of Cicero were
his highest book in Latin; in another that he had
‘delighted’ in Virgil and Horace; but his delight
could never have been scholarly. This appears to have been
the whole of his training previous to an event which changed his
own destiny and moulded that of his descendants—the second
marriage of his mother.</p>
<p>There was a Merchant-Burgess of Edinburgh of the name of
Thomas Smith. The Smith pedigree has been traced a little
more particularly than the Stevensons’, with a similar
dearth of illustrious names. One character seems to have
appeared, indeed, for a moment at the wings of history: a skipper
of Dundee who smuggled over some Jacobite big-wig at the time of
the ‘Fifteen, and was afterwards drowned in Dundee harbour
while going on board his ship. With this exception, the
generations of the Smiths present no conceivable interest even to
a descendant; and Thomas, of Edinburgh, was the first to issue
from respectable obscurity. His father, a skipper out of
Broughty Ferry, was drowned at sea while Thomas was still
young. He seems to have owned a ship or two—whalers,
I suppose, or coasters—and to have been a member of the
Dundee Trinity House, whatever that implies. On his death
the widow remained in Broughty, and the son came to push his
future in Edinburgh. There is a story told of him in the
family which I repeat here because I shall have to tell later on
a similar, but more perfectly authenticated, experience of his
stepson, Robert Stevenson. Word reached Thomas that his
mother was unwell, and he prepared to leave for Broughty on the
morrow. It was between two and three in the morning, and
the early northern daylight was already clear, when he awoke and
beheld the curtains at the bed-foot drawn aside and his mother
appear in the interval, smile upon him for a moment, and then
vanish. The sequel is stereo-type; he took the time by his
watch, and arrived at Broughty to learn it was the very moment of
her death. The incident is at least curious in having
happened to such a person—as the tale is being told of
him. In all else, he appears as a man ardent, passionate,
practical, designed for affairs and prospering in them far beyond
the average. He founded a solid business in lamps and oils,
and was the sole proprietor of a concern called the Greenside
Company’s Works—‘a multifarious concern it
was,’ writes my cousin, Professor Swan, ‘of
tinsmiths, coppersmiths, brass-founders, blacksmiths, and
japanners.’ He was also, it seems, a shipowner and
underwriter. He built himself ‘a
land’—Nos. 1 and 2 Baxter’s Place, then no such
unfashionable neighbourhood—and died, leaving his only son
in easy circumstances, and giving to his three surviving
daughters portions of five thousand pounds and upwards.
There is no standard of success in life; but in one of its
meanings, this is to succeed.</p>
<p>In what we know of his opinions, he makes a figure highly
characteristic of the time. A high Tory and patriot, a
captain—so I find it in my notes—of Edinburgh
Spearmen, and on duty in the Castle during the Muir and Palmer
troubles, he bequeathed to his descendants a bloodless sword and
a somewhat violent tradition, both long preserved. The
judge who sat on Muir and Palmer, the famous Braxfield, let fall
from the bench the <i>obiter dictum</i>—‘I never
liked the French all my days, but now I hate them.’
If Thomas Smith, the Edinburgh Spearman, were in court, he must
have been tempted to applaud. The people of that land were
his abhorrence; he loathed Buonaparte like Antichrist.
Towards the end he fell into a kind of dotage; his family must
entertain him with games of tin soldiers, which he took a
childish pleasure to array and overset; but those who played with
him must be upon their guard, for if his side, which was always
that of the English against the French, should chance to be
defeated, there would be trouble in Baxter’s Place.
For these opinions he may almost be said to have suffered.
Baptised and brought up in the Church of Scotland, he had, upon
some conscientious scruple, joined the communion of the
Baptists. Like other Nonconformists, these were inclined to
the Liberal side in politics, and, at least in the beginning,
regarded Buonaparte as a deliverer. From the time of his
joining the Spearmen, Thomas Smith became in consequence a
bugbear to his brethren in the faith. ‘They
that take the sword shall perish with the sword,’ they told
him; they gave him ‘no rest’; ‘his position
became intolerable’; it was plain he must choose between
his political and his religious tenets; and in the last years of
his life, about 1812, he returned to the Church of his
fathers.</p>
<p>August 1786 was the date of his chief advancement, when,
having designed a system of oil lights to take the place of the
primitive coal fires before in use, he was dubbed engineer to the
newly-formed Board of Northern Lighthouses. Not only were
his fortunes bettered by the appointment, but he was introduced
to a new and wider field for the exercise of his abilities, and a
new way of life highly agreeable to his active
constitution. He seems to have rejoiced in the long
journeys, and to have combined them with the practice of field
sports. ‘A tall, stout man coming ashore with his gun
over his arm’—so he was described to my
father—the only description that has come down to me by a
light-keeper old in the service. Nor did this change come
alone. On the 9th July of the same year, Thomas Smith had
been left for the second time a widower. As he was still
but thirty-three years old, prospering in his affairs, newly
advanced in the world, and encumbered at the time with a family
of children, five in number, it was natural that he should
entertain the notion of another wife. Expeditious in
business, he was no less so in his choice; and it was not later
than June 1787—for my grandfather is described as still in
his fifteenth year—that he married the widow of Alan
Stevenson.</p>
<p>The perilous experiment of bringing together two families for
once succeeded. Mr. Smith’s two eldest daughters,
Jean and Janet, fervent in piety, unwearied in kind deeds, were
well qualified both to appreciate and to attract the stepmother;
and her son, on the other hand, seems to have found immediate
favour in the eyes of Mr. Smith. It is, perhaps, easy to
exaggerate the ready-made resemblances; the tired woman must have
done much to fashion girls who were under ten; the man, lusty and
opinionated, must have stamped a strong impression on the boy of
fifteen. But the cleavage of the family was too marked, the
identity of character and interest produced between the two men
on the one hand, and the three women on the other, was too
complete to have been the result of influence alone.
Particular bonds of union must have pre-existed on each
side. And there is no doubt that the man and the boy met
with common ambitions, and a common bent, to the practice of that
which had not so long before acquired the name of civil
engineering.</p>
<p>For the profession which is now so thronged, famous, and
influential, was then a thing of yesterday. My grandfather
had an anecdote of Smeaton, probably learned from John Clerk of
Eldin, their common friend. Smeaton was asked by the Duke
of Argyll to visit the West Highland coast for a professional
purpose. He refused, appalled, it seems, by the rough
travelling. ‘You can recommend some other fit
person?’ asked the Duke. ‘No,’ said
Smeaton, ‘I’m sorry I can’t.’
‘What!’ cried the Duke, ‘a profession with only
one man in it! Pray, who taught you?’
‘Why,’ said Smeaton, ‘I believe I may say I was
self-taught, an’t please your grace.’ Smeaton,
at the date of Thomas Smith’s third marriage, was yet
living; and as the one had grown to the new profession from his
place at the instrument-maker’s, the other was beginning to
enter it by the way of his trade. The engineer of to-day is
confronted with a library of acquired results; tables and
formulae to the value of folios full have been calculated and
recorded; and the student finds everywhere in front of him the
footprints of the pioneers. In the eighteenth century the
field was largely unexplored; the engineer must read with his own
eyes the face of nature; he arose a volunteer, from the workshop
or the mill, to undertake works which were at once inventions and
adventures. It was not a science then—it was a living
art; and it visibly grew under the eyes and between the hands of
its practitioners.</p>
<p>The charm of such an occupation was strongly felt by
stepfather and stepson. It chanced that Thomas Smith was a
reformer; the superiority of his proposed lamp and reflectors
over open fires of coal secured his appointment; and no sooner
had he set his hand to the task than the interest of that
employment mastered him. The vacant stage on which he was
to act, and where all had yet to be created—the greatness
of the difficulties, the smallness of the means intrusted
him—would rouse a man of his disposition like a call to
battle. The lad introduced by marriage under his roof was
of a character to sympathise; the public usefulness of the
service would appeal to his judgment, the perpetual need for
fresh expedients stimulate his ingenuity. And there was
another attraction which, in the younger man at least, appealed
to, and perhaps first aroused, a profound and enduring sentiment
of romance: I mean the attraction of the life. The seas
into which his labours carried the new engineer were still scarce
charted, the coasts still dark; his way on shore was often far
beyond the convenience of any road; the isles in which he must
sojourn were still partly savage. He must toss much in
boats; he must often adventure on horseback by the dubious
bridle-track through unfrequented wildernesses; he must sometimes
plant his lighthouse in the very camp of wreckers; and he was
continually enforced to the vicissitudes of outdoor life.
The joy of my grandfather in this career was strong as the love
of woman. It lasted him through youth and manhood, it
burned strong in age, and at the approach of death his last
yearning was to renew these loved experiences. What he felt
himself he continued to attribute to all around him. And to
this supposed sentiment in others I find him continually, almost
pathetically, appealing; often in vain.</p>
<p>Snared by these interests, the boy seems to have become almost
at once the eager confidant and adviser of his new connection;
the Church, if he had ever entertained the prospect very warmly,
faded from his view; and at the age of nineteen I find him
already in a post of some authority, superintending the
construction of the lighthouse on the isle of Little Cumbrae, in
the Firth of Clyde. The change of aim seems to have caused
or been accompanied by a change of character. It sounds
absurd to couple the name of my grandfather with the word
indolence; but the lad who had been destined from the cradle to
the Church, and who had attained the age of fifteen without
acquiring more than a moderate knowledge of Latin, was at least
no unusual student. And from the day of his charge at
Little Cumbrae he steps before us what he remained until the end,
a man of the most zealous industry, greedy of occupation, greedy
of knowledge, a stern husband of time, a reader, a writer,
unflagging in his task of self-improvement. Thenceforward
his summers were spent directing works and ruling workmen, now in
uninhabited, now in half-savage islands; his winters were set
apart, first at the Andersonian Institution, then at the
University of Edinburgh to improve himself in mathematics,
chemistry, natural history, agriculture, moral philosophy, and
logic; a bearded student—although no doubt scrupulously
shaved. I find one reference to his years in class which
will have a meaning for all who have studied in Scottish
Universities. He mentions a recommendation made by the
professor of logic. ‘The high-school men,’ he
writes, ‘and <i>bearded men like myself</i>, were all
attention.’ If my grandfather were throughout life a
thought too studious of the art of getting on, much must be
forgiven to the bearded and belated student who looked across,
with a sense of difference, at ‘the high-school
men.’ Here was a gulf to be crossed; but already he
could feel that he had made a beginning, and that must have been
a proud hour when he devoted his earliest earnings to the
repayment of the charitable foundation in which he had received
the rudiments of knowledge.</p>
<p>In yet another way he followed the example of his
father-in-law, and from 1794 to 1807, when the affairs of the
Bell Rock made it necessary for him to resign, he served in
different corps of volunteers. In the last of these he rose
to a position of distinction, no less than captain of the
Grenadier Company, and his colonel, in accepting his resignation,
entreated he would do them ‘the favour of continuing as an
honorary member of a corps which has been so much indebted for
your zeal and exertions.’</p>
<p>To very pious women the men of the house are apt to appear
worldly. The wife, as she puts on her new bonnet before
church, is apt to sigh over that assiduity which enabled her
husband to pay the milliner’s bill. And in the
household of the Smiths and Stevensons the women were not only
extremely pious, but the men were in reality a trifle
worldly. Religious they both were; conscious, like all
Scots, of the fragility and unreality of that scene in which we
play our uncomprehended parts; like all Scots, realising daily
and hourly the sense of another will than ours and a perpetual
direction in the affairs of life. But the current of their
endeavours flowed in a more obvious channel. They had got
on so far; to get on further was their next ambition—to
gather wealth, to rise in society, to leave their descendants
higher than themselves, to be (in some sense) among the founders
of families. Scott was in the same town nourishing similar
dreams. But in the eyes of the women these dreams would be
foolish and idolatrous.</p>
<p>I have before me some volumes of old letters addressed to Mrs.
Smith and the two girls, her favourites, which depict in a strong
light their characters and the society in which they moved.</p>
<blockquote><p>‘My very dear and much esteemed
Friend,’ writes one correspondent, ‘this day being
the anniversary of our acquaintance, I feel inclined to address
you; but where shall I find words to express the fealings of a
graitful <i>Heart</i>, first to the Lord who graiciously inclined
you on this day last year to notice an afflicted Strainger
providentially cast in your way far from any Earthly friend? . .
. Methinks I shall hear him say unto you, “Inasmuch
as ye shewed kindness to my afflicted handmaiden, ye did it unto
me.”’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This is to Jean; but the same afflicted lady wrote
indifferently to Jean, to Janet, and to Ms. Smith, whom she calls
‘my Edinburgh mother.’ It is plain the three
were as one person, moving to acts of kindness, like the Graces,
inarmed. Too much stress must not be laid on the style of
this correspondence; Clarinda survived, not far away, and may
have met the ladies on the Calton Hill; and many of the writers
appear, underneath the conventions of the period, to be genuinely
moved. But what unpleasantly strikes a reader is, that
these devout unfortunates found a revenue in their
devotion. It is everywhere the same tale; on the side of
the soft-hearted ladies, substantial acts of help; on the side of
the correspondents, affection, italics, texts, ecstasies, and
imperfect spelling. When a midwife is recommended, not at
all for proficiency in her important art, but because she has
‘a sister whom I [the correspondent] esteem and respect,
and [who] is a spiritual daughter of my Hond Father in the
Gosple,’ the mask seems to be torn off, and the wages of
godliness appear too openly. Capacity is a secondary matter
in a midwife, temper in a servant, affection in a daughter, and
the repetition of a shibboleth fulfils the law. Common
decency is at times forgot in the same page with the most
sanctified advice and aspiration. Thus I am introduced to a
correspondent who appears to have been at the time the
housekeeper at Invermay, and who writes to condole with my
grandmother in a season of distress. For nearly half a
sheet she keeps to the point with an excellent discretion in
language then suddenly breaks out:</p>
<blockquote><p>‘It was fully my intention to have left this
at Martinmass, but the Lord fixes the bounds of our
habitation. I have had more need of patience in my
situation here than in any other, partly from the very violent,
unsteady, deceitful temper of the Mistress of the Family, and
also from the state of the house. It was in a train of
repair when I came here two years ago, and is still in
Confusion. There is above six Thousand Pounds’ worth
of Furniture come from London to be put up when the rooms are
completely finished; and then, woe be to the Person who is
Housekeeper at Invermay!’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>And by the tail of the document, which is torn, I see she goes
on to ask the bereaved family to seek her a new place. It
is extraordinary that people should have been so deceived in so
careless an impostor; that a few sprinkled ‘God
willings’ should have blinded them to the essence of this
venomous letter; and that they should have been at the pains to
bind it in with others (many of them highly touching) in their
memorial of harrowing days. But the good ladies were
without guile and without suspicion; they were victims marked for
the axe, and the religious impostors snuffed up the wind as they
drew near.</p>
<p>I have referred above to my grandmother; it was no slip of the
pen: for by an extraordinary arrangement, in which it is hard not
to suspect the managing hand of a mother, Jean Smith became the
wife of Robert Stevenson. Mrs. Smith had failed in her
design to make her son a minister, and she saw him daily more
immersed in business and worldly ambition. One thing
remained that she might do: she might secure for him a godly
wife, that great means of sanctification; and she had two under
her hand, trained by herself, her dear friends and daughters both
in law and love—Jean and Janet. Jean’s
complexion was extremely pale, Janet’s was florid; my
grandmother’s nose was straight, my great-aunt’s
aquiline; but by the sound of the voice, not even a son was able
to distinguish one from other. The marriage of a man of
twenty-seven and a girl of twenty who have lived for twelve years
as brother and sister, is difficult to conceive. It took
place, however, and thus in 1799 the family was still further
cemented by the union of a representative of the male or worldly
element with one of the female and devout.</p>
<p>This essential difference remained unbridged, yet never
diminished the strength of their relation. My grandfather
pursued his design of advancing in the world with some measure of
success; rose to distinction in his calling, grew to be the
familiar of members of Parliament, judges of the Court of
Session, and ‘landed gentlemen’; learned a ready
address, had a flow of interesting conversation, and when he was
referred to as ‘a highly respectable
<i>bourgeois</i>,’ resented the description. My
grandmother remained to the end devout and unambitious, occupied
with her Bible, her children, and her house; easily shocked, and
associating largely with a clique of godly parasites. I do
not know if she called in the midwife already referred to; but
the principle on which that lady was recommended, she accepted
fully. The cook was a godly woman, the butcher a Christian
man, and the table suffered. The scene has been often
described to me of my grandfather sawing with darkened
countenance at some indissoluble joint—‘Preserve me,
my dear, what kind of a reedy, stringy beast is
this?’—of the joint removed, the pudding substituted
and uncovered; and of my grandmother’s anxious glance and
hasty, deprecatory comment, ‘Just mismanaged!’
Yet with the invincible obstinacy of soft natures, she would
adhere to the godly woman and the Christian man, or find others
of the same kidney to replace them. One of her confidants
had once a narrow escape; an unwieldy old woman, she had fallen
from an outside stair in a close of the Old Town; and my
grandmother rejoiced to communicate the providential circumstance
that a baker had been passing underneath with his bread upon his
head. ‘I would like to know what kind of providence
the baker thought it!’ cried my grandfather.</p>
<p>But the sally must have been unique. In all else that I
have heard or read of him, so far from criticising, he was doing
his utmost to honour and even to emulate his wife’s
pronounced opinions. In the only letter which has come to
my hand of Thomas Smith’s, I find him informing his wife
that he was ‘in time for afternoon church’; similar
assurances or cognate excuses abound in the correspondence of
Robert Stevenson; and it is comical and pretty to see the two
generations paying the same court to a female piety more highly
strung: Thomas Smith to the mother of Robert
Stevenson—Robert Stevenson to the daughter of Thomas
Smith. And if for once my grandfather suffered himself to
be hurried, by his sense of humour and justice, into that remark
about the case of Providence and the Baker, I should be sorry for
any of his children who should have stumbled into the same
attitude of criticism. In the apocalyptic style of the
housekeeper of Invermay, woe be to that person! But there
was no fear; husband and sons all entertained for the pious,
tender soul the same chivalrous and moved affection. I have
spoken with one who remembered her, and who had been the intimate
and equal of her sons, and I found this witness had been struck,
as I had been, with a sense of disproportion between the warmth
of the adoration felt and the nature of the woman, whether as
described or observed. She diligently read and marked her
Bible; she was a tender nurse; she had a sense of humour under
strong control; she talked and found some amusement at her (or
rather at her husband’s) dinner-parties. It is
conceivable that even my grandmother was amenable to the
seductions of dress; at least, I find her husband inquiring
anxiously about ‘the gowns from Glasgow,’ and very
careful to describe the toilet of the Princess Charlotte, whom he
had seen in church ‘in a Pelisse and Bonnet of the same
colour of cloth as the Boys’ Dress jackets, trimmed with
blue satin ribbons; the hat or Bonnet, Mr. Spittal said, was a
Parisian slouch, and had a plume of three white
feathers.’ But all this leaves a blank impression,
and it is rather by reading backward in these old musty letters,
which have moved me now to laughter and now to impatience, that I
glean occasional glimpses of how she seemed to her
contemporaries, and trace (at work in her queer world of godly
and grateful parasites) a mobile and responsive nature.
Fashion moulds us, and particularly women, deeper than we
sometimes think; but a little while ago, and, in some circles,
women stood or fell by the degree of their appreciation of old
pictures; in the early years of the century (and surely with more
reason) a character like that of my grandmother warmed, charmed,
and subdued, like a strain of music, the hearts of the men of her
own household. And there is little doubt that Mrs. Smith,
as she looked on at the domestic life of her son and her
stepdaughter, and numbered the heads in their increasing nursery,
must have breathed fervent thanks to her Creator.</p>
<p>Yet this was to be a family unusually tried; it was not for
nothing that one of the godly women saluted Miss Janet Smith as
‘a veteran in affliction’; and they were all before
middle life experienced in that form of service. By the 1st
of January 1808, besides a pair of still-born twins, children had
been born and still survived to the young couple. By the
11th two were gone; by the 28th a third had followed, and the two
others were still in danger. In the letters of a former
nurserymaid—I give her name, Jean Mitchell, <i>honoris
causa</i>—we are enabled to feel, even at this distance of
time, some of the bitterness of that month of bereavement.</p>
<blockquote><p>‘I have this day received,’ she writes
to Miss Janet, ‘the melancholy news of my dear babys’
deaths. My heart is like to break for my dear Mrs.
Stevenson. O may she be supported on this trying
occasion! I hope her other three babys will be spared to
her. O, Miss Smith, did I think when I parted from my sweet
babys that I never was to see them more?’ ‘I
received,’ she begins her next, ‘the mournful news of
my dear Jessie’s death. I also received the hair of
my three sweet babys, which I will preserve as dear to their
memorys and as a token of Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson’s
friendship and esteem. At my leisure hours, when the
children are in bed, they occupy all my thoughts, I dream of
them. About two weeks ago I dreamed that my sweet little
Jessie came running to me in her usual way, and I took her in my
arms. O my dear babys, were mortal eyes permitted to see
them in heaven, we would not repine nor grieve for their
loss.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>By the 29th of February, the Reverend John Campbell, a man of
obvious sense and human value, but hateful to the present
biographer, because he wrote so many letters and conveyed so
little information, summed up this first period of affliction in
a letter to Miss Smith: ‘Your dear sister but a little
while ago had a full nursery, and the dear blooming creatures
sitting around her table filled her breast with hope that one day
they should fill active stations in society and become an
ornament in the Church below. But ah!’</p>
<p>Near a hundred years ago these little creatures ceased to be,
and for not much less a period the tears have been dried.
And to this day, looking in these stitched sheaves of letters, we
hear the sound of many soft-hearted women sobbing for the
lost. Never was such a massacre of the innocents; teething
and chincough and scarlet fever and smallpox ran the round; and
little Lillies, and Smiths, and Stevensons fell like moths about
a candle; and nearly all the sympathetic correspondents deplore
and recall the little losses of their own. ‘It is
impossible to describe the Heavnly looks of the Dear Babe the
three last days of his life,’ writes Mrs. Laurie to Mrs.
Smith. ‘Never—never, my dear aunt, could I wish
to eface the rememberance of this Dear Child. Never, never,
my dear aunt!’ And so soon the memory of the dead and
the dust of the survivors are buried in one grave.</p>
<p>There was another death in 1812; it passes almost unremarked;
a single funeral seemed but a small event to these
‘veterans in affliction’; and by 1816 the nursery was
full again. Seven little hopefuls enlivened the house; some
were growing up; to the elder girl my grandfather already wrote
notes in current hand at the tail of his letters to his wife: and
to the elder boys he had begun to print, with laborious care,
sheets of childish gossip and pedantic applications. Here,
for instance, under date of 26th May 1816, is part of a
mythological account of London, with a moral for the three
gentlemen, ‘Messieurs Alan, Robert, and James
Stevenson,’ to whom the document is addressed:</p>
<blockquote><p>‘There are many prisons here like Bridewell,
for, like other large towns, there are many bad men here as well
as many good men. The natives of London are in general not
so tall and strong as the people of Edinburgh, because they have
not so much pure air, and instead of taking porridge they eat
cakes made with sugar and plums. Here you have thousands of
carts to draw timber, thousands of coaches to take you to all
parts of the town, and thousands of boats to sail on the river
Thames. But you must have money to pay, otherwise you can
get nothing. Now the way to get money is, become clever men
and men of education, by being good scholars.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>From the same absence, he writes to his wife on a Sunday:</p>
<blockquote><p>‘It is now about eight o’clock with
me, and I imagine you to be busy with the young folks, hearing
the questions [<i>Anglicé</i>, catechism], and indulging
the boys with a chapter from the large Bible, with their
interrogations and your answers in the soundest doctrine. I
hope James is getting his verse as usual, and that Mary is not
forgetting her little <i>hymn</i>. While Jeannie will be
reading Wotherspoon, or some other suitable and instructive book,
I presume our friend, Aunt Mary, will have just arrived with the
news of <i>a throng kirk</i> [a crowded church] and a great
sermon. You may mention, with my compliments to my mother,
that I was at St. Paul’s to-day, and attended a very
excellent service with Mr. James Lawrie. The text was
“Examine and see that ye be in the faith.”’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A twinkle of humour lights up this evocation of the distant
scene—the humour of happy men and happy homes. Yet it
is penned upon the threshold of fresh sorrow. James and
Mary—he of the verse and she of the hymn—did not much
more than survive to welcome their returning father. On the
25th, one of the godly women writes to Janet:</p>
<blockquote><p>‘My dearest beloved madam, when I last
parted from you, you was so affected with your affliction [you?
or I?] could think of nothing else. But on Saturday, when I
went to inquire after your health, how was I startled to hear
that dear James was gone! Ah, what is this? My dear
benefactors, doing so much good to many, to the Lord, suddenly to
be deprived of their most valued comforts! I was thrown
into great perplexity, could do nothing but murmur, why these
things were done to such a family. I could not rest, but at
midnight, whether spoken [or not] it was presented to my
mind—“Those whom ye deplore are walking with me in
white.” I conclude from this the Lord saying to sweet
Mrs. Stevenson: “I gave them to be brought up for me: well
done, good and faithful! they are fully prepared, and now I must
present them to my father and your father, to my God and your
God.”’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It would be hard to lay on flattery with a more sure and
daring hand. I quote it as a model of a letter of
condolence; be sure it would console. Very different,
perhaps quite as welcome, is this from a lighthouse inspector to
my grandfather:</p>
<blockquote><p>‘In reading your letter the trickling tear
ran down ray cheeks in silent sorrow for your departed dear ones,
my sweet little friends. Well do I remember, and you will
call to mind, their little innocent and interesting
stories. Often have they come round me and taken me by the
hand, but alas! I am no more destined to behold
them.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The child who is taken becomes canonised, and the looks of the
homeliest babe seem in the retrospect ‘heavenly the three
last days of his life.’ But it appears that James and
Mary had indeed been children more than usually engaging; a
record was preserved a long while in the family of their remarks
and ‘little innocent and interesting stories,’ and
the blow and the blank were the more sensible.</p>
<p>Early the next month Robert Stevenson must proceed upon his
voyage of inspection, part by land, part by sea. He left
his wife plunged in low spirits; the thought of his loss, and
still more of her concern, was continually present in his mind,
and he draws in his letters home an interesting picture of his
family relations:</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Windygates
Inn</i>, <i>Monday</i> (<i>Postmark July</i> 16<i>th</i>)</p>
<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest
Jeannie</span>,—While the people of the inn are getting me
a little bit of something to eat, I sit down to tell you that I
had a most excellent passage across the water, and got to Wemyss
at mid-day. I hope the children will be very good, and that
Robert will take a course with you to learn his Latin lessons
daily; he may, however, read English in company. Let them
have strawberries on Saturdays.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Westhaven</i>, 17<i>th</i>
<i>July</i>.</p>
<p>‘I have been occupied to-day at the harbour of Newport,
opposite Dundee, and am this far on my way to Arbroath. You
may tell the boys that I slept last night in Mr. Steadman’s
tent. I found my bed rather hard, but the lodgings were
otherwise extremely comfortable. The encampment is on the
Fife side of the Tay, immediately opposite to Dundee. From
the door of the tent you command the most beautiful view of the
Firth, both up and down, to a great extent. At night all
was serene and still, the sky presented the most beautiful
appearance of bright stars, and the morning was ushered in with
the song of many little birds.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Aberdeen</i>, <i>July</i>
19<i>th</i>.</p>
<p>‘I hope, my dear, that you are going out of doors
regularly and taking much exercise. I would have you to
<i>make the markets daily</i>—and by all means to take a
seat in the coach once or twice in the week and see what is going
on in town. [The family were at the sea-side.] It
will be good not to be too great a stranger to the house.
It will be rather painful at first, but as it is to be done, I
would have you not to be too strange to the house in town.</p>
<p>‘Tell the boys that I fell in with a soldier—his
name is Henderson—who was twelve years with Lord Wellington
and other commanders. He returned very lately with only
eightpence-halfpenny in his pocket, and found his father and
mother both in life, though they had never heard from him, nor he
from them. He carried my great-coat and umbrella a few
miles.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Fraserburgh</i>,
<i>July</i> 20<i>th</i>.</p>
<p>‘Fraserburgh is the same dull place which [Auntie] Mary
and Jeannie found it. As I am travelling along the coast
which they are acquainted with, you had better cause Robert bring
down the map from Edinburgh; and it will be a good exercise in
geography for the young folks to trace my course. I hope
they have entered upon the writing. The library will afford
abundance of excellent books, which I wish you would employ a
little. I hope you are doing me the favour to go much out
with the boys, which will do you much good and prevent them from
getting so very much overheated.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To the
Boys—Printed</i>.]</p>
<blockquote><p>‘When I had last the pleasure of writing to
you, your dear little brother James and your sweet little sister
Mary were still with us. But it has pleased God to remove
them to another and a better world, and we must submit to the
will of Providence. I must, however, request of you to
think sometimes upon them, and to be very careful not to do
anything that will displease or vex your mother. It is
therefore proper that you do not roamp [Scottish indeed] too much
about, and that you learn your lessons.’</p>
<p>‘I went to Fraserburgh and visited Kinnaird Head
Lighthouse, which I found in good order. All this time I
travelled upon good roads, and paid many a toll-man by the way;
but from Fraserburgh to Banff there is no toll-bars, and the road
is so bad that I had to walk up and down many a hill, and for
want of bridges the horses had to drag the chaise up to the
middle of the wheels in water. At Banff I saw a large ship
of 300 tons lying on the sands upon her beam-ends, and a wreck
for want of a good harbour. Captain Wilson—to whom I
beg my compliments—will show you a ship of 300 tons.
At the towns of Macduff, Banff, and Portsoy, many of the houses
are built of marble, and the rocks on this part of the coast or
sea-side are marble. But, my dear Boys, unless marble be
polished and dressed, it is a very coarse-looking stone, and has
no more beauty than common rock. As a proof of this, ask
the favour of your mother to take you to Thomson’s Marble
Works in South Leith, and you will see marble in all its stages,
and perhaps you may there find Portsoy marble! The use I
wish to make of this is to tell you that, without education, a
man is just like a block of rough, unpolished marble.
Notice, in proof of this, how much Mr. Neill and Mr.
M’Gregor [the tutor] know, and observe how little a man
knows who is not a good scholar. On my way to Fochabers I
passed through many thousand acres of Fir timber, and saw many
deer running in these woods.’</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>To Mrs. Stevenson</i>.]</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Inverness</i>, <i>July</i>
21<i>st</i>.</p>
<p>‘I propose going to church in the afternoon, and as I
have breakfasted late, I shall afterwards take a walk, and dine
about six o’clock. I do not know who is the clergyman
here, but I shall think of you all. I travelled in the
mail-coach [from Banff] almost alone. While it was daylight
I kept the top, and the passing along a country I had never
before seen was a considerable amusement. But, my dear, you
are all much in my thoughts, and many are the objects which
recall the recollection of our tender and engaging children we
have so recently lost. We must not, however, repine.
I could not for a moment wish any change of circumstances in
their case; and in every comparative view of their state, I see
the Lord’s goodness in removing them from an evil world to
an abode of bliss; and I must earnestly hope that you may be
enabled to take such a view of this affliction as to live in the
happy prospect of our all meeting again to part no more—and
that under such considerations you are getting up your
spirits. I wish you would walk about, and by all means go
to town, and do not sit much at home.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Inverness</i>, <i>July</i>
23<i>rd</i>.</p>
<p>‘I am duly favoured with your much-valued letter, and I
am happy to find that you are so much with my mother, because
that sort of variety has a tendency to occupy the mind, and to
keep it from brooding too much upon one subject.
Sensibility and tenderness are certainly two of the most
interesting and pleasing qualities of the mind. These
qualities are also none of the least of the many endearingments
of the female character. But if that kind of sympathy and
pleasing melancholy, which is familiar to us under distress, be
much indulged, it becomes habitual, and takes such a hold of the
mind as to absorb all the other affections, and unfit us for the
duties and proper enjoyments of life. Resignation sinks
into a kind of peevish discontent. I am far, however, from
thinking there is the least danger of this in your case, my dear;
for you have been on all occasions enabled to look upon the
fortunes of this life as under the direction of a higher power,
and have always preserved that propriety and consistency of
conduct in all circumstances which endears your example to your
family in particular, and to your friends. I am therefore,
my dear, for you to go out much, and to go to the house up-stairs
[he means to go up-stairs in the house, to visit the place of the
dead children], and to put yourself in the way of the visits of
your friends. I wish you would call on the Miss Grays, and
it would be a good thing upon a Saturday to dine with my mother,
and take Meggy and all the family with you, and let them have
their strawberries in town. The tickets of one of the
<i>old-fashioned coaches</i> would take you all up, and if the
evening were good, they could all walk down, excepting Meggy and
little David.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Inverness</i>, <i>July</i>
25<i>th</i>, 11 <i>p.m.</i></p>
<p>‘Captain Wemyss, of Wemyss, has come to Inverness to go
the voyage with me, and as we are sleeping in a double-bedded
room, I must no longer transgress. You must remember me the
best way you can to the children.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>On board of the Lighthouse
Yacht</i>, <i>July</i> 29<i>th</i>.</p>
<p>‘I got to Cromarty yesterday about mid-day, and went to
church. It happened to be the sacrament there, and I heard
a Mr. Smith at that place conclude the service with a very
suitable exhortation. There seemed a great concourse of
people, but they had rather an unfortunate day for them at the
tent, as it rained a good deal. After drinking tea at the
inn, Captain Wemyss accompanied me on board, and we sailed about
eight last night. The wind at present being rather a
beating one, I think I shall have an opportunity of standing into
the bay of Wick, and leaving this letter to let you know my
progress and that I am well.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Lighthouse Yacht</i>,
<i>Stornoway</i>, <i>August</i> 4<i>th</i>.</p>
<p>‘To-day we had prayers on deck as usual when at
sea. I read the 14th chapter, I think, of Job.
Captain Wemyss has been in the habit of doing this on board his
own ship, agreeably to the Articles of War. Our passage
round the Cape [Cape Wrath] was rather a cross one, and as the
wind was northerly, we had a pretty heavy sea, but upon the whole
have made a good passage, leaving many vessels behind us in
Orkney. I am quite well, my dear; and Captain Wemyss, who
has much spirit, and who is much given to observation, and a
perfect enthusiast in his profession, enlivens the voyage
greatly. Let me entreat you to move about much, and take a
walk with the boys to Leith. I think they have still many
places to see there, and I wish you would indulge them in this
respect. Mr. Scales is the best person I know for showing
them the sailcloth-weaving, etc., and he would have great
pleasure in undertaking this. My dear, I trust soon to be
with you, and that through the goodness of God we shall meet all
well.’</p>
<p>‘There are two vessels lying here with emigrants for
America, each with eighty people on board, at all ages, from a
few days to upwards of sixty! Their prospects must be very
forlorn to go with a slender purse for distant and unknown
countries.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Lighthouse Yacht</i>,
<i>off Greenock</i>, <i>Aug.</i> 18<i>th</i>.</p>
<p>‘It was after <i>church-time</i> before we got here, but
we had prayers upon deck on the way up the Clyde. This has,
upon the whole, been a very good voyage, and Captain Wemyss, who
enjoys it much, has been an excellent companion; we met with
pleasure, and shall part with regret.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Strange that, after his long experience, my grandfather should
have learned so little of the attitude and even the dialect of
the spiritually-minded; that after forty-four years in a most
religious circle, he could drop without sense of incongruity from
a period of accepted phrases to ‘trust his wife was
<i>getting up her spirits</i>,’ or think to reassure her as
to the character of Captain Wemyss by mentioning that he had read
prayers on the deck of his frigate ‘<i>agreeably to the
Articles of War</i>’! Yet there is no doubt—and
it is one of the most agreeable features of the kindly
series—that he was doing his best to please, and there is
little doubt that he succeeded. Almost all my
grandfather’s private letters have been destroyed.
This correspondence has not only been preserved entire, but
stitched up in the same covers with the works of the godly women,
the Reverend John Campbell, and the painful Mrs. Ogle. I
did not think to mention the good dame, but she comes in usefully
as an example. Amongst the treasures of the ladies of my
family, her letters have been honoured with a volume to
themselves. I read about a half of them myself; then handed
over the task to one of stauncher resolution, with orders to
communicate any fact that should be found to illuminate these
pages. Not one was found; it was her only art to
communicate by post second-rate sermons at second-hand; and such,
I take it, was the correspondence in which my grandmother
delighted. If I am right, that of Robert Stevenson, with
his quaint smack of the contemporary ‘Sandford and
Merton,’ his interest in the whole page of experience, his
perpetual quest, and fine scent of all that seems romantic to a
boy, his needless pomp of language, his excellent good sense, his
unfeigned, unstained, unwearied human kindliness, would seem to
her, in a comparison, dry and trivial and worldly. And if
these letters were by an exception cherished and preserved, it
would be for one or both of two reasons—because they dealt
with and were bitter-sweet reminders of a time of sorrow; or
because she was pleased, perhaps touched, by the writer’s
guileless efforts to seem spiritually-minded.</p>
<p>After this date there were two more births and two more
deaths, so that the number of the family remained unchanged; in
all five children survived to reach maturity and to outlive their
parents.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER II: THE SERVICE OF THE NORTHERN LIGHTS</h2>
<h3>I</h3>
<p>It were hard to imagine a contrast more sharply defined than
that between the lives of the men and women of this family: the
one so chambered, so centred in the affections and the
sensibilities; the other so active, healthy, and
expeditious. From May to November, Thomas Smith and Robert
Stevenson were on the mail, in the saddle, or at sea; and my
grandfather, in particular, seems to have been possessed with a
demon of activity in travel. In 1802, by direction of the
Northern Lighthouse Board, he had visited the coast of England
from St. Bees, in Cumberland, and round by the Scilly Islands to
some place undecipherable by me; in all a distance of 2500
miles. In 1806 I find him starting ‘on a tour round
the south coast of England, from the Humber to the
Severn.’ Peace was not long declared ere he found
means to visit Holland, where he was in time to see, in the
navy-yard at Helvoetsluys, ‘about twenty of
Bonaparte’s <i>English flotilla</i> lying in a state of
decay, the object of curiosity to Englishmen.’ By
1834 he seems to have been acquainted with the coast of France
from Dieppe to Bordeaux; and a main part of his duty as Engineer
to the Board of Northern Lights was one round of dangerous and
laborious travel.</p>
<p>In 1786, when Thomas Smith first received the appointment, the
extended and formidable coast of Scotland was lighted at a single
point—the Isle of May, in the jaws of the Firth of Forth,
where, on a tower already a hundred and fifty years old, an open
coal-fire blazed in an iron chauffer. The whole
archipelago, thus nightly plunged in darkness, was shunned by
sea-going vessels, and the favourite courses were north about
Shetland and west about St. Kilda. When the Board met, four
new lights formed the extent of their intentions—Kinnaird
Head, in Aberdeenshire, at the eastern elbow of the coast; North
Ronaldsay, in Orkney, to keep the north and guide ships passing
to the south’ard of Shetland; Island Glass, on Harris, to
mark the inner shore of the Hebrides and illuminate the
navigation of the Minch; and the Mull of Kintyre. These
works were to be attempted against obstacles, material and
financial, that might have staggered the most bold. Smith
had no ship at his command till 1791; the roads in those
outlandish quarters where his business lay were scarce passable
when they existed, and the tower on the Mull of Kintyre stood
eleven months unlighted while the apparatus toiled and foundered
by the way among rocks and mosses. Not only had towers to
be built and apparatus transplanted; the supply of oil must be
maintained, and the men fed, in the same inaccessible and distant
scenes; a whole service, with its routine and hierarchy, had to
be called out of nothing; and a new trade (that of lightkeeper)
to be taught, recruited, and organised. The funds of the
Board were at the first laughably inadequate. They embarked
on their career on a loan of twelve hundred pounds, and their
income in 1789, after relief by a fresh Act of Parliament,
amounted to less than three hundred. It must be supposed
that the thoughts of Thomas Smith, in these early years, were
sometimes coloured with despair; and since he built and lighted
one tower after another, and created and bequeathed to his
successors the elements of an excellent administration, it may be
conceded that he was not after all an unfortunate choice for a
first engineer.</p>
<p>War added fresh complications. In 1794 Smith came
‘very near to be taken’ by a French squadron.
In 1813 Robert Stevenson was cruising about the neighbourhood of
Cape Wrath in the immediate fear of Commodore Rogers. The
men, and especially the sailors, of the lighthouse service must
be protected by a medal and ticket from the brutal activity of
the press-gang. And the zeal of volunteer patriots was at
times embarrassing.</p>
<blockquote><p>‘I set off on foot,’ writes my
grandfather, ‘for Marazion, a town at the head of
Mount’s Bay, where I was in hopes of getting a boat to
freight. I had just got that length, and was making the
necessary inquiry, when a young man, accompanied by several
idle-looking fellows, came up to me, and in a hasty tone said,
“Sir, in the king’s name I seize your person and
papers.” To which I replied that I should be glad to
see his authority, and know the reason of an address so
abrupt. He told me the want of time prevented his taking
regular steps, but that it would be necessary for me to return to
Penzance, as I was suspected of being a French spy. I
proposed to submit my papers to the nearest Justice of Peace, who
was immediately applied to, and came to the inn where I
was. He seemed to be greatly agitated, and quite at a loss
how to proceed. The complaint preferred against me was
“that I had examined the Longships Lighthouse with the most
minute attention, and was no less particular in my inquiries at
the keepers of the lighthouse regarding the sunk rocks lying off
the Land’s End, with the sets of the currents and tides
along the coast: that I seemed particularly to regret the
situation of the rocks called the Seven Stones, and the loss of a
beacon which the Trinity Board had caused to be fixed on the Wolf
Rock; that I had taken notes of the bearings of several sunk
rocks, and a drawing of the lighthouse, and of Cape
Cornwall. Further, that I had refused the honour of Lord
Edgecombe’s invitation to dinner, offering as an apology
that I had some particular business on hand.”’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>My grandfather produced in answer his credentials and letter
of credit; but the justice, after perusing them, ‘very
gravely observed that they were “musty bits of
paper,”’ and proposed to maintain the arrest.
Some more enlightened magistrates at Penzance relieved him of
suspicion and left him at liberty to pursue his
journey,—‘which I did with so much eagerness,’
he adds, ‘that I gave the two coal lights on the Lizard
only a very transient look.’</p>
<p>Lighthouse operations in Scotland differed essentially in
character from those in England. The English coast is in
comparison a habitable, homely place, well supplied with towns;
the Scottish presents hundreds of miles of savage islands and
desolate moors. The Parliamentary committee of 1834,
profoundly ignorant of this distinction, insisted with my
grandfather that the work at the various stations should be let
out on contract ‘in the neighbourhood,’ where sheep
and deer, and gulls and cormorants, and a few ragged gillies,
perhaps crouching in a bee-hive house, made up the only
neighbours. In such situations repairs and improvements
could only be overtaken by collecting (as my grandfather
expressed it) a few ‘lads,’ placing them under charge
of a foreman, and despatching them about the coast as occasion
served. The particular danger of these seas increased the
difficulty. The course of the lighthouse tender lies amid
iron-bound coasts, among tide-races, the whirlpools of the
Pentland Firth, flocks of islands, flocks of reefs, many of them
uncharted. The aid of steam was not yet. At first in
random coasting sloop, and afterwards in the cutter belonging to
the service, the engineer must ply and run amongst these
multiplied dangers, and sometimes late into the stormy
autumn. For pages together my grandfather’s diary
preserves a record of these rude experiences; of hard winds and
rough seas; and of ‘the try-sail and storm-jib, those old
friends which I never like to see.’ They do not tempt
to quotation, but it was the man’s element, in which he
lived, and delighted to live, and some specimen must be
presented. On Friday, September 10th, 1830, the
<i>Regent</i> lying in Lerwick Bay, we have this entry:
‘The gale increases, with continued rain.’ On
the morrow, Saturday, 11th, the weather appeared to moderate, and
they put to sea, only to be driven by evening into
Levenswick. There they lay, ‘rolling much,’
with both anchors ahead and the square yard on deck, till the
morning of Saturday, 18th. Saturday and Sunday they were
plying to the southward with a ‘strong breeze and a heavy
sea,’ and on Sunday evening anchored in Otterswick.
‘Monday, 20th, it blows so fresh that we have no
communication with the shore. We see Mr. Rome on the beach,
but we cannot communicate with him. It blows “mere
fire,” as the sailors express it.’ And for
three days more the diary goes on with tales of davits unshipped,
high seas, strong gales from the southward, and the ship driven
to refuge in Kirkwall or Deer Sound. I have many a passage
before me to transcribe, in which my grandfather draws himself as
a man of minute and anxious exactitude about details. It
must not be forgotten that these voyages in the tender were the
particular pleasure and reward of his existence; that he had in
him a reserve of romance which carried him delightedly over these
hardships and perils; that to him it was ‘great gain’
to be eight nights and seven days in the savage bay of
Levenswick—to read a book in the much agitated
cabin—to go on deck and hear the gale scream in his ears,
and see the landscape dark with rain and the ship plunge at her
two anchors—and to turn in at night and wake again at
morning, in his narrow berth, to the glamorous and continued
voices of the gale.</p>
<p>His perils and escapes were beyond counting. I shall
only refer to two: the first, because of the impression made upon
himself; the second, from the incidental picture it presents of
the north islanders. On the 9th October 1794 he took
passage from Orkney in the sloop <i>Elizabeth</i> of
Stromness. She made a fair passage till within view of
Kinnaird Head, where, as she was becalmed some three miles in the
offing, and wind seemed to threaten from the south-east, the
captain landed him, to continue his journey more expeditiously
ashore. A gale immediately followed, and the
<i>Elizabeth</i> was driven back to Orkney and lost with all
hands. The second escape I have been in the habit of
hearing related by an eye-witness, my own father, from the
earliest days of childhood. On a September night, the
<i>Regent</i> lay in the Pentland Firth in a fog and a violent
and windless swell. It was still dark, when they were
alarmed by the sound of breakers, and an anchor was immediately
let go. The peep of dawn discovered them swinging in
desperate proximity to the Isle of Swona <a
name="citation54a"></a><a href="#footnote54a"
class="citation">[54a]</a> and the surf bursting close under
their stern. There was in this place a hamlet of the
inhabitants, fisher-folk and wreckers; their huts stood close
about the head of the beach. All slept; the doors were
closed, and there was no smoke, and the anxious watchers on board
ship seemed to contemplate a village of the dead. It was
thought possible to launch a boat and tow the <i>Regent</i> from
her place of danger; and with this view a signal of distress was
made and a gun fired with a red-hot poker from the galley.
Its detonation awoke the sleepers. Door after door was
opened, and in the grey light of the morning fisher after fisher
was seen to come forth, yawning and stretching himself, nightcap
on head. Fisher after fisher, I wrote, and my pen tripped;
for it should rather stand wrecker after wrecker. There was
no emotion, no animation, it scarce seemed any interest; not a
hand was raised; but all callously awaited the harvest of the
sea, and their children stood by their side and waited
also. To the end of his life, my father remembered that
amphitheatre of placid spectators on the beach; and with a
special and natural animosity, the boys of his own age. But
presently a light air sprang up, and filled the sails, and
fainted, and filled them again; and little by little the
<i>Regent</i> fetched way against the swell, and clawed off shore
into the turbulent firth.</p>
<p>The purpose of these voyages was to effect a landing on open
beaches or among shelving rocks, not for persons only, but for
coals and food, and the fragile furniture of light-rooms.
It was often impossible. In 1831 I find my grandfather
‘hovering for a week’ about the Pentland Skerries for
a chance to land; and it was almost always difficult. Much
knack and enterprise were early developed among the seamen of the
service; their management of boats is to this day a matter of
admiration; and I find my grandfather in his diary depicting the
nature of their excellence in one happily descriptive phrase,
when he remarks that Captain Soutar had landed ‘the small
stores and nine casks of oil <i>with all the activity of a
smuggler</i>.’ And it was one thing to land, another
to get on board again. I have here a passage from the
diary, where it seems to have been touch-and-go. ‘I
landed at Tarbetness, on the eastern side of the point, in a
<i>mere gale or blast of wind</i> from west-south-west, at 2
p.m. It blew so fresh that the captain, in a kind of
despair, went off to the ship, leaving myself and the steward
ashore. While I was in the light-room, I felt it shaking
and waving, not with the tremor of the Bell Rock, but with the
<i>waving of a tree</i>! This the light-keepers seemed to
be quite familiar to, the principal keeper remarking that
“it was very pleasant,” perhaps meaning interesting
or curious. The captain worked the vessel into smooth water
with admirable dexterity, and I got on board again about 6 p.m.
from the other side of the point.’ But not even the
dexterity of Soutar could prevail always; and my grandfather must
at times have been left in strange berths and with but rude
provision. I may instance the case of my father, who was
storm-bound three days upon an islet, sleeping in the uncemented
and unchimneyed houses of the islanders, and subsisting on a diet
of nettle-soup and lobsters.</p>
<p>The name of Soutar has twice escaped my pen, and I feel I owe
him a vignette. Soutar first attracted notice as mate of a
praam at the Bell Rock, and rose gradually to be captain of the
<i>Regent</i>. He was active, admirably skilled in his
trade, and a man incapable of fear. Once, in London, he
fell among a gang of confidence-men, naturally deceived by his
rusticity and his prodigious accent. They plied him with
drink—a hopeless enterprise, for Soutar could not be made
drunk; they proposed cards, and Soutar would not play. At
last, one of them, regarding him with a formidable countenance,
inquired if he were not frightened? ‘I’m
no’ very easy fleyed,’ replied the captain. And
the rooks withdrew after some easier pigeon. So many perils
shared, and the partial familiarity of so many voyages, had given
this man a stronghold in my grandfather’s estimation; and
there is no doubt but he had the art to court and please him with
much hypocritical skill. He usually dined on Sundays in the
cabin. He used to come down daily after dinner for a glass
of port or whisky, often in his full rig of sou’-wester,
oilskins, and long boots; and I have often heard it described how
insinuatingly he carried himself on these appearances, artfully
combining the extreme of deference with a blunt and seamanlike
demeanour. My father and uncles, with the devilish
penetration of the boy, were far from being deceived; and my
father, indeed, was favoured with an object-lesson not to be
mistaken. He had crept one rainy night into an apple-barrel
on deck, and from this place of ambush overheard Soutar and a
comrade conversing in their oilskins. The smooth sycophant
of the cabin had wholly disappeared, and the boy listened with
wonder to a vulgar and truculent ruffian. Of Soutar, I may
say <i>tantum vidi</i>, having met him in the Leith docks now
more than thirty years ago, when he abounded in the praises of my
grandfather, encouraged me (in the most admirable manner) to
pursue his footprints, and left impressed for ever on my memory
the image of his own Bardolphian nose. He died not long
after.</p>
<p>The engineer was not only exposed to the hazards of the sea;
he must often ford his way by land to remote and scarce
accessible places, beyond reach of the mail or the post-chaise,
beyond even the tracery of the bridle-path, and guided by natives
across bog and heather. Up to 1807 my grand-father seems to
have travelled much on horseback; but he then gave up the
idea—‘such,’ he writes with characteristic
emphasis and capital letters, ‘is the Plague of
Baiting.’ He was a good pedestrian; at the age of
fifty-eight I find him covering seventeen miles over the moors of
the Mackay country in less than seven hours, and that is not bad
travelling for a scramble. The piece of country traversed
was already a familiar track, being that between Loch Eriboll and
Cape Wrath; and I think I can scarce do better than reproduce
from the diary some traits of his first visit. The tender
lay in Loch Eriboll; by five in the morning they sat down to
breakfast on board; by six they were ashore—my grandfather,
Mr. Slight an assistant, and Soutar of the jolly nose, and had
been taken in charge by two young gentlemen of the neighbourhood
and a pair of gillies. About noon they reached the Kyle of
Durness and passed the ferry. By half-past three they were
at Cape Wrath—not yet known by the emphatic abbreviation of
‘The Cape’—and beheld upon all sides of them
unfrequented shores, an expanse of desert moor, and the
high-piled Western Ocean. The site of the tower was
chosen. Perhaps it is by inheritance of blood, but I know
few things more inspiriting than this location of a lighthouse in
a designated space of heather and air, through which the
sea-birds are still flying. By 9 p.m. the return journey
had brought them again to the shores of the Kyle. The night
was dirty, and as the sea was high and the ferry-boat small,
Soutar and Mr. Stevenson were left on the far side, while the
rest of the party embarked and were received into the
darkness. They made, in fact, a safe though an alarming
passage; but the ferryman refused to repeat the adventure; and my
grand-father and the captain long paced the beach, impatient for
their turn to pass, and tormented with rising anxiety as to the
fate of their companions. At length they sought the shelter
of a shepherd’s house. ‘We had miserable
up-putting,’ the diary continues, ‘and on both sides
of the ferry much anxiety of mind. Our beds were clean
straw, and but for the circumstance of the boat, I should have
slept as soundly as ever I did after a walk through moss and mire
of sixteen hours.’</p>
<p>To go round the lights, even to-day, is to visit past
centuries. The tide of tourists that flows yearly in
Scotland, vulgarising all where it approaches, is still defined
by certain barriers. It will be long ere there is a hotel
at Sumburgh or a hydropathic at Cape Wrath; it will be long ere
any <i>char-à-banc</i>, laden with tourists, shall drive
up to Barra Head or Monach, the Island of the Monks. They
are farther from London than St. Petersburg, and except for the
towers, sounding and shining all night with fog-bells and the
radiance of the light-room, glittering by day with the trivial
brightness of white paint, these island and moorland stations
seem inaccessible to the civilisation of to-day, and even to the
end of my grandfather’s career the isolation was far
greater. There ran no post at all in the Long Island; from
the light-house on Barra Head a boat must be sent for letters as
far as Tobermory, between sixty and seventy miles of open sea;
and the posts of Shetland, which had surprised Sir Walter Scott
in 1814, were still unimproved in 1833, when my grandfather
reported on the subject. The group contained at the time a
population of 30,000 souls, and enjoyed a trade which had
increased in twenty years seven-fold, to between three and four
thousand tons. Yet the mails were despatched and received
by chance coasting vessels at the rate of a penny a letter; six
and eight weeks often elapsed between opportunities, and when a
mail was to be made up, sometimes at a moment’s notice, the
bellman was sent hastily through the streets of Lerwick.
Between Shetland and Orkney, only seventy miles apart, there was
‘no trade communication whatever.’</p>
<p>Such was the state of affairs, only sixty years ago, with the
three largest clusters of the Scottish Archipelago; and
forty-seven years earlier, when Thomas Smith began his rounds, or
forty-two, when Robert Stevenson became conjoined with him in
these excursions, the barbarism was deep, the people sunk in
superstition, the circumstances of their life perhaps unique in
history. Lerwick and Kirkwall, like Guam or the Bay of
Islands, were but barbarous ports where whalers called to take up
and to return experienced seamen. On the outlying islands
the clergy lived isolated, thinking other thoughts, dwelling in a
different country from their parishioners, like missionaries in
the South Seas. My grandfather’s unrivalled treasury
of anecdote was never written down; it embellished his talk while
he yet was, and died with him when he died; and such as have been
preserved relate principally to the islands of Ronaldsay and
Sanday, two of the Orkney group. These bordered on one of
the water-highways of civilisation; a great fleet passed annually
in their view, and of the shipwrecks of the world they were the
scene and cause of a proportion wholly incommensurable to their
size. In one year, 1798, my grandfather found the remains
of no fewer than five vessels on the isle of Sanday, which is
scarcely twelve miles long.</p>
<blockquote><p>‘Hardly a year passed,’ he writes,
‘without instances of this kind; for, owing to the
projecting points of this strangely formed island, the lowness
and whiteness of its eastern shores, and the wonderful manner in
which the scanty patches of land are intersected with lakes and
pools of water, it becomes, even in daylight, a deception, and
has often been fatally mistaken for an open sea. It had
even become proverbial with some of the inhabitants to observe
that “if wrecks were to happen, they might as well be sent
to the poor isle of Sanday as anywhere else.” On this
and the neighbouring islands the inhabitants had certainly had
their share of wrecked goods, for the eye is presented with these
melancholy remains in almost every form. For example,
although quarries are to be met with generally in these islands,
and the stones are very suitable for building dykes
(<i>Anglicé</i>, walls), yet instances occur of the land
being enclosed, even to a considerable extent, with
ship-timbers. The author has actually seen a park
(<i>Anglicé</i>, meadow) paled round chiefly with
cedar-wood and mahogany from the wreck of a Honduras-built ship;
and in one island, after the wreck of a ship laden with wine, the
inhabitants have been known to take claret to their barley-meal
porridge. On complaining to one of the pilots of the
badness of his boat’s sails, he replied to the author with
some degree of pleasantry, “Had it been His will that you
came na’ here wi’ your lights, we might
‘a’ had better sails to our boats, and more o’
other things.” It may further be mentioned that when
some of Lord Dundas’s farms are to be let in these islands
a competition takes place for the lease, and it is <i>bona
fide</i> understood that a much higher rent is paid than the
lands would otherwise give were it not for the chance of making
considerably by the agency and advantages attending shipwrecks on
the shores of the respective farms.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The people of North Ronaldsay still spoke Norse, or, rather,
mixed it with their English. The walls of their huts were
built to a great thickness of rounded stones from the sea-beach;
the roof flagged, loaded with earth, and perforated by a single
hole for the escape of smoke. The grass grew beautifully
green on the flat house-top, where the family would assemble with
their dogs and cats, as on a pastoral lawn; there were no
windows, and in my grandfather’s expression, ‘there
was really no demonstration of a house unless it were the
diminutive door.’ He once landed on Ronaldsay with
two friends. The inhabitants crowded and pressed so much
upon the strangers that the bailiff, or resident factor of the
island, blew with his ox-horn, calling out to the natives to
stand off and let the gentlemen come forward to the laird; upon
which one of the islanders, as spokesman, called out, “God
ha’e us, man! thou needsna mak’ sic a noise.
It’s no’ every day we ha’e <i>three hatted
men</i> on our isle.”’ When the Surveyor of
Taxes came (for the first time, perhaps) to Sanday, and began in
the King’s name to complain of the unconscionable swarms of
dogs, and to menace the inhabitants with taxation, it chanced
that my grandfather and his friend, Dr. Patrick Neill, were
received by an old lady in a Ronaldsay hut. Her hut, which
was similar to the model described, stood on a Ness, or point of
land jutting into the sea. They were made welcome in the
firelit cellar, placed ‘in <i>casey</i> or straw-worked
chairs, after the Norwegian fashion, with arms, and a canopy
overhead,’ and given milk in a wooden dish. These
hospitalities attended to, the old lady turned at once to Dr.
Neill, whom she took for the Surveyor of Taxes.
‘Sir,’ said she, ‘gin ye’ll tell the King
that I canna keep the Ness free o’ the Bangers (sheep)
without twa hun’s, and twa guid hun’s too,
he’ll pass me threa the tax on dugs.’</p>
<p>This familiar confidence, these traits of engaging simplicity,
are characters of a secluded people. Mankind—and,
above all, islanders—come very swiftly to a bearing, and
find very readily, upon one convention or another, a tolerable
corporate life. The danger is to those from without, who
have not grown up from childhood in the islands, but appear
suddenly in that narrow horizon, life-sized apparitions.
For these no bond of humanity exists, no feeling of kinship is
awakened by their peril; they will assist at a shipwreck, like
the fisher-folk of Lunga, as spectators, and when the fatal scene
is over, and the beach strewn with dead bodies, they will fence
their fields with mahogany, and, after a decent grace, sup claret
to their porridge. It is not wickedness: it is scarce evil;
it is only, in its highest power, the sense of isolation and the
wise disinterestedness of feeble and poor races. Think how
many viking ships had sailed by these islands in the past, how
many vikings had landed, and raised turmoil, and broken up the
barrows of the dead, and carried off the wines of the living; and
blame them, if you are able, for that belief (which may be called
one of the parables of the devil’s gospel) that a man
rescued from the sea will prove the bane of his deliverer.
It might be thought that my grandfather, coming there unknown,
and upon an employment so hateful to the inhabitants, must have
run the hazard of his life. But this were to
misunderstand. He came franked by the laird and the
clergyman; he was the King’s officer; the work was
‘opened with prayer by the Rev. Walter Trail, minister of
the parish’; God and the King had decided it, and the
people of these pious islands bowed their heads. There
landed, indeed, in North Ronaldsay, during the last decade of the
eighteenth century, a traveller whose life seems really to have
been imperilled. A very little man of a swarthy complexion,
he came ashore, exhausted and unshaved, from a long boat passage,
and lay down to sleep in the home of the parish
schoolmaster. But he had been seen landing. The
inhabitants had identified him for a Pict, as, by some singular
confusion of name, they called the dark and dwarfish aboriginal
people of the land. Immediately the obscure ferment of a
race-hatred, grown into a superstition, began to work in their
bosoms, and they crowded about the house and the room-door with
fearful whisperings. For some time the schoolmaster held
them at bay, and at last despatched a messenger to call my
grand-father. He came: he found the islanders beside
themselves at this unwelcome resurrection of the dead and the
detested; he was shown, as adminicular of testimony, the
traveller’s uncouth and thick-soled boots; he argued, and
finding argument unavailing, consented to enter the room and
examine with his own eyes the sleeping Pict. One glance was
sufficient: the man was now a missionary, but he had been before
that an Edinburgh shopkeeper with whom my grandfather had
dealt. He came forth again with this report, and the folk
of the island, wholly relieved, dispersed to their own
houses. They were timid as sheep and ignorant as limpets;
that was all. But the Lord deliver us from the tender
mercies of a frightened flock!</p>
<p>I will give two more instances of their superstition.
When Sir Walter Scott visited the Stones of Stennis, my
grandfather put in his pocket a hundred-foot line, which he
unfortunately lost.</p>
<blockquote><p>‘Some years afterwards,’ he writes,
‘one of my assistants on a visit to the Stones of Stennis
took shelter from a storm in a cottage close by the lake; and
seeing a box-measuring-line in the bole or sole of the cottage
window, he asked the woman where she got this well-known
professional appendage. She said: “O sir, ane of the
bairns fand it lang syne at the Stanes; and when drawing it out
we took fright, and thinking it had belanged to the fairies, we
threw it into the bole, and it has layen there ever
since.”’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This is for the one; the last shall be a sketch by the master
hand of Scott himself:</p>
<blockquote><p>‘At the village of Stromness, on the Orkney
main island, called Pomona, lived, in 1814, an aged dame called
Bessie Millie, who helped out her subsistence by selling
favourable winds to mariners. He was a venturous master of
a vessel who left the roadstead of Stromness without paying his
offering to propitiate Bessie Millie! Her fee was extremely
moderate, being exactly sixpence, for which she boiled her kettle
and gave the bark the advantage of her prayers, for she
disclaimed all unlawful acts. The wind thus petitioned for
was sure, she said, to arrive, though occasionally the mariners
had to wait some time for it. The woman’s dwelling
and appearance were not unbecoming her pretensions. Her
house, which was on the brow of the steep hill on which Stromness
is founded, was only accessible by a series of dirty and
precipitous lanes, and for exposure might have been the abode of
Eolus himself, in whose commodities the inhabitant dealt.
She herself was, as she told us, nearly one hundred years old,
withered and dried up like a mummy. A clay-coloured
kerchief, folded round her neck, corresponded in colour to her
corpse-like complexion. Two light blue eyes that gleamed
with a lustre like that of insanity, an utterance of astonishing
rapidity, a nose and chin that almost met together, and a ghastly
expression of cunning, gave her the effect of Hecate. Such
was Bessie Millie, to whom the mariners paid a sort of tribute
with a feeling between jest and earnest.’</p>
</blockquote>
<h3>II</h3>
<p>From about the beginning of the century up to 1807 Robert
Stevenson was in partnership with Thomas Smith. In the
last-named year the partnership was dissolved; Thomas Smith
returning to his business, and my grandfather becoming sole
engineer to the Board of Northern Lights.</p>
<p>I must try, by excerpts from his diary and correspondence, to
convey to the reader some idea of the ardency and thoroughness
with which he threw himself into the largest and least of his
multifarious engagements in this service. But first I must
say a word or two upon the life of lightkeepers, and the
temptations to which they are more particularly exposed.
The lightkeeper occupies a position apart among men. In
sea-towers the complement has always been three since the
deplorable business in the Eddystone, when one keeper died, and
the survivor, signalling in vain for relief, was compelled to
live for days with the dead body. These usually pass their
time by the pleasant human expedient of quarrelling; and
sometimes, I am assured, not one of the three is on speaking
terms with any other. On shore stations, which on the
Scottish coast are sometimes hardly less isolated, the usual
number is two, a principal and an assistant. The principal
is dissatisfied with the assistant, or perhaps the assistant
keeps pigeons, and the principal wants the water from the
roof. Their wives and families are with them, living cheek
by jowl. The children quarrel; Jockie hits Jimsie in the
eye, and the mothers make haste to mingle in the
dissension. Perhaps there is trouble about a broken dish;
perhaps Mrs. Assistant is more highly born than Mrs. Principal
and gives herself airs; and the men are drawn in and the servants
presently follow. ‘Church privileges have been denied
the keeper’s and the assistant’s servants,’ I
read in one case, and the eminently Scots periphrasis means
neither more nor less than excommunication, ‘on account of
the discordant and quarrelsome state of the families. The
cause, when inquired into, proves to be
<i>tittle</i>-<i>tattle</i> on both sides.’ The
tender comes round; the foremen and artificers go from station to
station; the gossip flies through the whole system of the
service, and the stories, disfigured and exaggerated, return to
their own birthplace with the returning tender. The English
Board was apparently shocked by the picture of these
dissensions. ‘When the Trinity House can,’ I
find my grandfather writing at Beachy Head, in 1834, ‘they
do not appoint two keepers, they disagree so ill. A man who
has a family is assisted by his family; and in this way, to my
experience and present observation, the business is very much
neglected. One keeper is, in my view, a bad system.
This day’s visit to an English lighthouse convinces me of
this, as the lightkeeper was walking on a staff with the gout,
and the business performed by one of his daughters, a girl of
thirteen or fourteen years of age.’ This man received
a hundred a year! It shows a different reading of human
nature, perhaps typical of Scotland and England, that I find in
my grandfather’s diary the following pregnant entry:
‘<i>The lightkeepers</i>, <i>agreeing ill</i>, <i>keep one
another to their duty</i>.’ But the Scottish system
was not alone founded on this cynical opinion. The dignity
and the comfort of the northern lightkeeper were both attended
to. He had a uniform to ‘raise him in his own
estimation, and in that of his neighbour, which is of consequence
to a person of trust. The keepers,’ my grandfather
goes on, in another place, ‘are attended to in all the
detail of accommodation in the best style as shipmasters; and
this is believed to have a sensible effect upon their conduct,
and to regulate their general habits as members of
society.’ He notes, with the same dip of ink, that
‘the brasses were not clean, and the persons of the keepers
not <i>trig’</i>; and thus we find him writing to a
culprit: ‘I have to complain that you are not cleanly in
your person, and that your manner of speech is ungentle, and
rather inclines to rudeness. You must therefore take a
different view of your duties as a lightkeeper.’ A
high ideal for the service appears in these expressions, and will
be more amply illustrated further on. But even the Scottish
lightkeeper was frail. During the unbroken solitude of the
winter months, when inspection is scarce possible, it must seem a
vain toil to polish the brass hand-rail of the stair, or to keep
an unrewarded vigil in the light-room; and the keepers are
habitually tempted to the beginnings of sloth, and must
unremittingly resist. He who temporises with his conscience
is already lost. I must tell here an anecdote that
illustrates the difficulties of inspection. In the days of
my uncle David and my father there was a station which they
regarded with jealousy. The two engineers compared notes
and were agreed. The tower was always clean, but seemed
always to bear traces of a hasty cleansing, as though the keepers
had been suddenly forewarned. On inquiry, it proved that
such was the case, and that a wandering fiddler was the unfailing
harbinger of the engineer. At last my father was
storm-stayed one Sunday in a port at the other side of the
island. The visit was quite overdue, and as he walked
across upon the Monday morning he promised himself that he should
at last take the keepers unprepared. They were both waiting
for him in uniform at the gate; the fiddler had been there on
Saturday!</p>
<p>My grandfather, as will appear from the following extracts,
was much a martinet, and had a habit of expressing himself on
paper with an almost startling emphasis. Personally, with
his powerful voice, sanguine countenance, and eccentric and
original locutions, he was well qualified to inspire a salutary
terror in the service.</p>
<blockquote><p>‘I find that the keepers have, by some means
or another, got into the way of cleaning too much with
rotten-stone and oil. I take the principal keeper to
<i>task</i> on this subject, and make him bring a clean towel and
clean one of the brazen frames, which leaves the towel in an
odious state. This towel I put up in a sheet of paper,
seal, and take with me to confront Mr. Murdoch, who has just left
the station.’ ‘This letter’—a stern
enumeration of complaints—‘to lie a week on the
light-room book-place, and to be put in the Inspector’s
hands when he comes round.’ ‘It is the most
painful thing that can occur for me to have a correspondence of
this kind with any of the keepers; and when I come to the
Lighthouse, instead of having the satisfaction to meet them with
approbation, it is distressing when one is obliged to put on a
most angry countenance and demeanour; but from such culpable
negligence as you have shown there is no avoiding it. I
hold it as a fixed maxim that, when a man or a family put on a
slovenly appearance in their houses, stairs, and lanterns, I
always find their reflectors, burners, windows, and light in
general, ill attended to; and, therefore, I must insist on
cleanliness throughout.’ ‘I find you very
deficient in the duty of the high tower. You thus place
your appointment as Principal Keeper in jeopardy; and I think it
necessary, as an old servant of the Board, to put you upon your
guard once for all at this time. I call upon you to
recollect what was formerly and is now said to you. The
state of the backs of the reflectors at the high tower was
disgraceful, as I pointed out to you on the spot. They were
as if spitten upon, and greasy finger-marks upon the back
straps. I demand an explanation of this state of
things.’ ‘The cause of the Commissioners
dismissing you is expressed in the minute; and it must be a
matter of regret to you that you have been so much engaged in
smuggling, and also that the Reports relative to the cleanliness
of the Lighthouse, upon being referred to, rather added to their
unfavourable opinion.’ ‘I do not go into the
dwelling-house, but severely chide the lightkeepers for the
disagreement that seems to subsist among them.’
‘The families of the two lightkeepers here agree very
ill. I have effected a reconciliation for the
present.’ ‘Things are in a very <i>humdrum</i>
state here. There is no painting, and in and out of doors
no taste or tidiness displayed. Robert’s wife
<i>greets</i> and M’Gregor’s scolds; and Robert is so
down-hearted that he says he is unfit for duty. I told him
that if he was to mind wives’ quarrels, and to take them
up, the only way was for him and M’Gregor to go down to the
point like Sir G. Grant and Lord Somerset.’ ‘I
cannot say that I have experienced a more unpleasant meeting than
that of the lighthouse folks this morning, or ever saw a stronger
example of unfeeling barbarity than the conduct which the ---s
exhibited. These two cold-hearted persons, not contented
with having driven the daughter of the poor nervous woman from
her father’s house, <i>both</i> kept <i>pouncing</i> at
her, lest she should forget her great misfortune. Write me
of their conduct. Do not make any communication of the
state of these families at Kinnaird Head, as this would be like
<i>Tale-bearing</i>.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>There is the great word out. Tales and Tale-bearing,
always with the emphatic capitals, run continually in his
correspondence. I will give but two instances:—</p>
<blockquote><p>‘Write to David [one of the lightkeepers]
and caution him to be more prudent how he expresses
himself. Let him attend his duty to the Lighthouse and his
family concerns, and give less heed to Tale-bearers.’
‘I have not your last letter at hand to quote its date;
but, if I recollect, it contains some kind of tales, which
nonsense I wish you would lay aside, and notice only the concerns
of your family and the important charge committed to
you.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Apparently, however, my grandfather was not himself
inaccessible to the Tale-bearer, as the following indicates:</p>
<blockquote><p>‘In walking along with Mr. --- , I explain
to him that I should be under the necessity of looking more
closely into the business here from his conduct at Buddonness,
which had given an instance of weakness in the Moral principle
which had staggered my opinion of him. His answer was,
“That will be with regard to the lass?” I told
him I was to enter no farther with him upon the
subject.’ ‘Mr. Miller appears to be master and
man. I am sorry about this foolish fellow. Had I
known his train, I should not, as I did, have rather forced him
into the service. Upon finding the windows in the state
they were, I turned upon Mr. Watt, and especially upon Mr.
Stewart. The latter did not appear for a length of time to
have visited the light-room. On asking the cause—did
Mr. Watt and him (<i>sic</i>) disagree; he said no; but he had
got very bad usage from the assistant, “who was a very
obstreperous man.” I could not bring Mr. Watt to put
in language his objections to Miller; all I could get was that,
he being your friend, and saying he was unwell, he did not like
to complain or to push the man; that the man seemed to have no
liking to anything like work; that he was unruly; that, being an
educated man, he despised them. I was, however, determined
to have out of these <i>unwilling</i> witnesses the language
alluded to. I fixed upon Mr. Stewart as chief; he
hedged. My curiosity increased, and I urged. Then he
said, “What would I think, just exactly, of Mr. Watt being
called an Old B-?” You may judge of my
surprise. There was not another word uttered. This
was quite enough, as coming from a person I should have
calculated upon quite different behaviour from. It spoke a
volume of the man’s mind and want of
principle.’ ‘Object to the keeper keeping a
Bull-Terrier dog of ferocious appearance. It is dangerous,
as we land at all times of the night.’ ‘Have
only to complain of the storehouse floor being spotted with
oil. Give orders for this being instantly rectified, so
that on my return to-morrow I may see things in good
order.’ ‘The furniture of both houses wants
much rubbing. Mrs. ---’s carpets are absurd beyond
anything I have seen. I want her to turn the fenders up
with the bottom to the fireplace: the carpets, when not likely to
be in use, folded up and laid as a hearthrug partly under the
fender.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>My grandfather was king in the service to his
finger-tips. All should go in his way, from the principal
lightkeeper’s coat to the assistant’s fender, from
the gravel in the garden-walks to the bad smell in the kitchen,
or the oil-spots on the store-room floor. It might be
thought there was nothing more calculated to awake men’s
resentment, and yet his rule was not more thorough than it was
beneficent. His thought for the keepers was continual, and
it did not end with their lives. He tried to manage their
successions; he thought no pains too great to arrange between a
widow and a son who had succeeded his father; he was often
harassed and perplexed by tales of hardship; and I find him
writing, almost in despair, of their improvident habits and the
destitution that awaited their families upon a death.
‘The house being completely furnished, they come into
possession without necessaries, and they go out <span
class="smcap">naked</span>. The insurance seems to have
failed, and what next is to be tried?’ While they
lived he wrote behind their backs to arrange for the education of
their children, or to get them other situations if they seemed
unsuitable for the Northern Lights. When he was at a
lighthouse on a Sunday he held prayers and heard the children
read. When a keeper was sick, he lent him his horse and
sent him mutton and brandy from the ship. ‘The
assistant’s wife having been this morning confined, there
was sent ashore a bottle of sherry and a few rusks—a
practice which I have always observed in this service,’ he
writes. They dwelt, many of them, in uninhabited isles or
desert forelands, totally cut off from shops. Many of them
were, besides, fallen into a rustic dishabitude of life, so that
even when they visited a city they could scarce be trusted with
their own affairs, as (for example) he who carried home to his
children, thinking they were oranges, a bag of lemons. And
my grandfather seems to have acted, at least in his early years,
as a kind of gratuitous agent for the service. Thus I find
him writing to a keeper in 1806, when his mind was already
preoccupied with arrangements for the Bell Rock: ‘I am much
afraid I stand very unfavourably with you as a man of promise, as
I was to send several things of which I believe I have more than
once got the memorandum. All I can say is that in this
respect you are not singular. This makes me no better; but
really I have been driven about beyond all example in my past
experience, and have been essentially obliged to neglect my own
urgent affairs.’ No servant of the Northern Lights
came to Edinburgh but he was entertained at Baxter’s Place
to breakfast. There, at his own table, my grandfather sat
down delightedly with his broad-spoken, homespun officers.
His whole relation to the service was, in fact, patriarchal; and
I believe I may say that throughout its ranks he was
adored. I have spoken with many who knew him; I was his
grandson, and their words may have very well been words of
flattery; but there was one thing that could not be affected, and
that was the look and light that came into their faces at the
name of Robert Stevenson.</p>
<p>In the early part of the century the foreman builder was a
young man of the name of George Peebles, a native of
Anstruther. My grandfather had placed in him a very high
degree of confidence, and he was already designated to be foreman
at the Bell Rock, when, on Christmas-day 1806, on his way home
from Orkney, he was lost in the schooner <i>Traveller</i>.
The tale of the loss of the <i>Traveller</i> is almost a replica
of that of the <i>Elizabeth</i> of Stromness; like the
<i>Elizabeth</i> she came as far as Kinnaird Head, was then
surprised by a storm, driven back to Orkney, and bilged and sank
on the island of Flotta. It seems it was about the dusk of
the day when the ship struck, and many of the crew and passengers
were drowned. About the same hour, my grandfather was in
his office at the writing-table; and the room beginning to
darken, he laid down his pen and fell asleep. In a dream he
saw the door open and George Peebles come in, ‘reeling to
and fro, and staggering like a drunken man,’ with water
streaming from his head and body to the floor. There it
gathered into a wave which, sweeping forward, submerged my
grandfather. Well, no matter how deep; versions vary; and
at last he awoke, and behold it was a dream! But it may be
conceived how profoundly the impression was written even on the
mind of a man averse from such ideas, when the news came of the
wreck on Flotta and the death of George.</p>
<p>George’s vouchers and accounts had perished with
himself; and it appeared he was in debt to the
Commissioners. But my grandfather wrote to Orkney twice,
collected evidence of his disbursements, and proved him to be
seventy pounds ahead. With this sum, he applied to
George’s brothers, and had it apportioned between their
mother and themselves. He approached the Board and got an
annuity of £5 bestowed on the widow Peebles; and we find
him writing her a long letter of explanation and advice, and
pressing on her the duty of making a will. That he should
thus act executor was no singular instance. But besides
this we are able to assist at some of the stages of a rather
touching experiment; no less than an attempt to secure Charles
Peebles heir to George’s favour. He is despatched,
under the character of ‘a fine young man’;
recommended to gentlemen for ‘advice, as he’s a
stranger in your place, and indeed to this kind of charge, this
being his first outset as Foreman’; and for a long while
after, the letter-book, in the midst of that thrilling first year
of the Bell Rock, is encumbered with pages of instruction and
encouragement. The nature of a bill, and the precautions
that are to be observed about discounting it, are expounded at
length and with clearness. ‘You are not, I hope,
neglecting, Charles, to work the harbour at spring-tides; and see
that you pay the greatest attention to get the well so as to
supply the keeper with water, for he is a very helpless fellow,
and so unfond of hard work that I fear he could do ill to keep
himself in water by going to the other side for
it.’—‘With regard to spirits, Charles, I see
very little occasion for it.’ These abrupt
apostrophes sound to me like the voice of an awakened conscience;
but they would seem to have reverberated in vain in the ears of
Charles. There was trouble in Pladda, his scene of
operations; his men ran away from him, there was at least a talk
of calling in the Sheriff. ‘I fear,’ writes my
grandfather, ‘you have been too indulgent, and I am sorry
to add that men do not answer to be too well treated, a
circumstance which I have experienced, and which you will learn
as you go on in business.’ I wonder, was not Charles
Peebles himself a case in point? Either death, at least, or
disappointment and discharge, must have ended his service in the
Northern Lights; and in later correspondence I look in vain for
any mention of his name—Charles, I mean, not Peebles: for
as late as 1839 my grandfather is patiently writing to another of
the family: ‘I am sorry you took the trouble of applying to
me about your son, as it lies quite out of my way to forward his
views in the line of his profession as a Draper.’</p>
<h3>III</h3>
<p>A professional life of Robert Stevenson has been already given
to the world by his son David, and to that I would refer those
interested in such matters. But my own design, which is to
represent the man, would be very ill carried out if I suffered
myself or my reader to forget that he was, first of all and last
of all, an engineer. His chief claim to the style of a
mechanical inventor is on account of the Jib or Balance Crane of
the Bell Rock, which are beautiful contrivances. But the
great merit of this engineer was not in the field of
engines. He was above all things a projector of works in
the face of nature, and a modifier of nature itself. A road
to be made, a tower to be built, a harbour to be constructed, a
river to be trained and guided in its channel—these were
the problems with which his mind was continually occupied; and
for these and similar ends he travelled the world for more than
half a century, like an artist, note-book in hand.</p>
<p>He once stood and looked on at the emptying of a certain
oil-tube; he did so watch in hand, and accurately timed the
operation; and in so doing offered the perfect type of his
profession. The fact acquired might never be of use: it was
acquired: another link in the world’s huge chain of
processes was brought down to figures and placed at the service
of the engineer. ‘The very term mensuration sounds
<i>engineer-like</i>,’ I find him writing; and in truth
what the engineer most properly deals with is that which can be
measured, weighed, and numbered. The time of any operation
in hours and minutes, its cost in pounds, shillings, and pence,
the strain upon a given point in foot-pounds—these are his
conquests, with which he must continually furnish his mind, and
which, after he has acquired them, he must continually apply and
exercise. They must be not only entries in note-books, to
be hurriedly consulted; in the actor’s phrase, he must be
<i>stale</i> in them; in a word of my grandfather’s, they
must be ‘fixed in the mind like the ten fingers and ten
toes.’</p>
<p>These are the certainties of the engineer; so far he finds a
solid footing and clear views. But the province of formulas
and constants is restricted. Even the mechanical engineer
comes at last to an end of his figures, and must stand up, a
practical man, face to face with the discrepancies of nature and
the hiatuses of theory. After the machine is finished, and
the steam turned on, the next is to drive it; and experience and
an exquisite sympathy must teach him where a weight should be
applied or a nut loosened. With the civil engineer, more
properly so called (if anything can be proper with this awkward
coinage), the obligation starts with the beginning. He is
always the practical man. The rains, the winds and the
waves, the complexity and the fitfulness of nature, are always
before him. He has to deal with the unpredictable, with
those forces (in Smeaton’s phrase) that ‘are subject
to no calculation’; and still he must predict, still
calculate them, at his peril. His work is not yet in being,
and he must foresee its influence: how it shall deflect the tide,
exaggerate the waves, dam back the rain-water, or attract the
thunderbolt. He visits a piece of sea-board; and from the
inclination and soil of the beach, from the weeds and shell-fish,
from the configuration of the coast and the depth of soundings
outside, he must deduce what magnitude of waves is to be looked
for. He visits a river, its summer water babbling on
shallows; and he must not only read, in a thousand indications,
the measure of winter freshets, but be able to predict the
violence of occasional great floods. Nay, and more; he must
not only consider that which is, but that which may be.
Thus I find my grandfather writing, in a report on the North Esk
Bridge: ‘A less waterway might have sufficed, but the
<i>valleys may come to be meliorated by
drainage</i>.’ One field drained after another
through all that confluence of vales, and we come to a time when
they shall precipitate by so much a more copious and transient
flood, as the gush of the flowing drain-pipe is superior to the
leakage of a peat.</p>
<p>It is plain there is here but a restricted use for
formulas. In this sort of practice, the engineer has need
of some transcendental sense. Smeaton, the pioneer, bade
him obey his ‘feelings’; my father, that ‘power
of estimating obscure forces which supplies a coefficient of its
own to every rule.’ The rules must be everywhere
indeed; but they must everywhere be modified by this
transcendental coefficient, everywhere bent to the impression of
the trained eye and the <i>feelings</i> of the engineer. A
sentiment of physical laws and of the scale of nature, which
shall have been strong in the beginning and progressively
fortified by observation, must be his guide in the last
recourse. I had the most opportunity to observe my
father. He would pass hours on the beach, brooding over the
waves, counting them, noting their least deflection, noting when
they broke. On Tweedside, or by Lyne or Manor, we have
spent together whole afternoons; to me, at the time, extremely
wearisome; to him, as I am now sorry to think, bitterly
mortifying. The river was to me a pretty and various
spectacle; I could not see—I could not be made to
see—it otherwise. To my father it was a chequer-board
of lively forces, which he traced from pool to shallow with
minute appreciation and enduring interest. ‘That bank
was being under-cut,’ he might say. ‘Why?
Suppose you were to put a groin out here, would not the <i>filum
fluminis</i> be cast abruptly off across the channel? and where
would it impinge upon the other shore? and what would be the
result? Or suppose you were to blast that boulder, what
would happen? Follow it—use the eyes God has given
you—can you not see that a great deal of land would be
reclaimed upon this side?’ It was to me like school
in holidays; but to him, until I had worn him out with my
invincible triviality, a delight. Thus he pored over the
engineer’s voluminous handy-book of nature; thus must, too,
have pored my grand-father and uncles.</p>
<p>But it is of the essence of this knowledge, or this knack of
mind, to be largely incommunicable. ‘It cannot be
imparted to another,’ says my father. The verbal
casting-net is thrown in vain over these evanescent, inferential
relations. Hence the insignificance of much engineering
literature. So far as the science can be reduced to
formulas or diagrams, the book is to the point; so far as the art
depends on intimate study of the ways of nature, the
author’s words will too often be found vapid. This
fact—that engineering looks one way, and literature
another—was what my grand-father overlooked. All his
life long, his pen was in his hand, piling up a treasury of
knowledge, preparing himself against all possible
contingencies. Scarce anything fell under his notice but he
perceived in it some relation to his work, and chronicled it in
the pages of his journal in his always lucid, but sometimes
inexact and wordy, style. The Travelling Diary (so he
called it) was kept in fascicles of ruled paper, which were at
last bound up, rudely indexed, and put by for future
reference. Such volumes as have reached me contain a
surprising medley: the whole details of his employment in the
Northern Lights and his general practice; the whole biography of
an enthusiastic engineer. Much of it is useful and curious;
much merely otiose; and much can only be described as an attempt
to impart that which cannot be imparted in words. Of such
are his repeated and heroic descriptions of reefs; monuments of
misdirected literary energy, which leave upon the mind of the
reader no effect but that of a multiplicity of words and the
suggested vignette of a lusty old gentleman scrambling among
tangle. It is to be remembered that he came to engineering
while yet it was in the egg and without a library, and that he
saw the bounds of that profession widen daily. He saw iron
ships, steamers, and the locomotive engine, introduced. He
lived to travel from Glasgow to Edinburgh in the inside of a
forenoon, and to remember that he himself had ‘often been
twelve hours upon the journey, and his grand-father (Lillie) two
days’! The profession was still but in its second
generation, and had already broken down the barriers of time and
space. Who should set a limit to its future
encroachments? And hence, with a kind of sanguine pedantry,
he pursued his design of ‘keeping up with the day’
and posting himself and his family on every mortal subject.
Of this unpractical idealism we shall meet with many instances;
there was not a trade, and scarce an accomplishment, but he
thought it should form part of the outfit of an engineer; and not
content with keeping an encyclopaedic diary himself, he would
fain have set all his sons to work continuing and extending
it. They were more happily inspired. My
father’s engineering pocket-book was not a bulky volume;
with its store of pregnant notes and vital formulas, it served
him through life, and was not yet filled when he came to
die. As for Robert Stevenson and the Travelling Diary, I
should be ungrateful to complain, for it has supplied me with
many lively traits for this and subsequent chapters; but I must
still remember much of the period of my study there as a sojourn
in the Valley of the Shadow.</p>
<p>The duty of the engineer is twofold—to design the work,
and to see the work done. We have seen already something of
the vociferous thoroughness of the man, upon the cleaning of
lamps and the polishing of reflectors. In building, in
road-making, in the construction of bridges, in every detail and
byway of his employments, he pursued the same ideal.
Perfection (with a capital P and violently under-scored) was his
design. A crack for a penknife, the waste of
‘six-and-thirty shillings,’ ‘the loss of a day
or a tide,’ in each of these he saw and was revolted by the
finger of the sloven; and to spirits intense as his, and immersed
in vital undertakings, the slovenly is the dishonest, and wasted
time is instantly translated into lives endangered. On this
consistent idealism there is but one thing that now and then
trenches with a touch of incongruity, and that is his love of the
picturesque. As when he laid out a road on Hogarth’s
line of beauty; bade a foreman be careful, in quarrying, not
‘to disfigure the island’; or regretted in a report
that ‘the great stone, called the <i>Devil in the Hole</i>,
was blasted or broken down to make road-metal, and for other
purposes of the work.’</p>
<h2>CHAPTER III: THE BUILDING OF THE BELL ROCK</h2>
<p>Off the mouths of the Tay and the Forth, thirteen miles from
Fifeness, eleven from Arbroath, and fourteen from the Red Head of
Angus, lies the Inchcape or Bell Rock. It extends to a
length of about fourteen hundred feet, but the part of it
discovered at low water to not more than four hundred and
twenty-seven. At a little more than half-flood in fine
weather the seamless ocean joins over the reef, and at high-water
springs it is buried sixteen feet. As the tide goes down,
the higher reaches of the rock are seen to be clothed by
<i>Conferva rupestris</i> as by a sward of grass; upon the more
exposed edges, where the currents are most swift and the breach
of the sea heaviest, Baderlock or Henware flourishes; and the
great Tangle grows at the depth of several fathoms with
luxuriance. Before man arrived, and introduced into the
silence of the sea the smoke and clangour of a blacksmith’s
shop, it was a favourite resting-place of seals. The crab
and lobster haunt in the crevices; and limpets, mussels, and the
white buckie abound.</p>
<p>According to a tradition, a bell had been once hung upon this
rock by an abbot of Arbroath, <a name="citation91a"></a><a
href="#footnote91a" class="citation">[91a]</a> ‘and being
taken down by a sea-pirate, a year thereafter he perished upon
the same rock, with ship and goods, in the righteous judgment of
God.’ From the days of the abbot and the sea-pirate
no man had set foot upon the Inchcape, save fishers from the
neighbouring coast, or perhaps—for a moment, before the
surges swallowed them—the unfortunate victims of
shipwreck. The fishers approached the rock with an extreme
timidity; but their harvest appears to have been great, and the
adventure no more perilous than lucrative. In 1800, on the
occasion of my grandfather’s first landing, and during the
two or three hours which the ebb-tide and the smooth water
allowed them to pass upon its shelves, his crew collected upwards
of two hundredweight of old metal: pieces of a kedge anchor and a
cabin stove, crowbars, a hinge and lock of a door, a ship’s
marking-iron, a piece of a ship’s caboose, a
soldier’s bayonet, a cannon ball, several pieces of money,
a shoe-buckle, and the like. Such were the spoils of the
Bell Rock.</p>
<p>From 1794 onward, the mind of my grandfather had been
exercised with the idea of a light upon this formidable
danger. To build a tower on a sea rock, eleven miles from
shore, and barely uncovered at low water of neaps, appeared a
fascinating enterprise. It was something yet unattempted,
unessayed; and even now, after it has been lighted for more than
eighty years, it is still an exploit that has never been
repeated. <a name="citation92a"></a><a href="#footnote92a"
class="citation">[92a]</a> My grandfather was, besides, but
a young man, of an experience comparatively restricted, and a
reputation confined to Scotland; and when he prepared his first
models, and exhibited them in Merchants’ Hall, he can
hardly be acquitted of audacity. John Clerk of Eldin stood
his friend from the beginning, kept the key of the model room, to
which he carried ‘eminent strangers,’ and found words
of counsel and encouragement beyond price. ‘Mr. Clerk
had been personally known to Smeaton, and used occasionally to
speak of him to me,’ says my grandfather; and again:
‘I felt regret that I had not the opportunity of a greater
range of practice to fit me for such an undertaking; but I was
fortified by an expression of my friend Mr. Clerk in one of our
conversations. “This work,” said he, “is
unique, and can be little forwarded by experience of ordinary
masonic operations. In this case Smeaton’s
‘Narrative’ must be the text-book, and energy and
perseverance the pratique.”’</p>
<p>A Bill for the work was introduced into Parliament and lost in
the Lords in 1802–3. John Rennie was afterwards, at
my grandfather’s suggestion, called in council, with the
style of chief engineer. The precise meaning attached to
these words by any of the parties appears irrecoverable.
Chief engineer should have full authority, full responsibility,
and a proper share of the emoluments; and there were none of
these for Rennie. I find in an appendix a paper which
resumes the controversy on this subject; and it will be enough to
say here that Rennie did not design the Bell Rock, that he did
not execute it, and that he was not paid for it. <a
name="citation94a"></a><a href="#footnote94a"
class="citation">[94a]</a> From so much of the
correspondence as has come down to me, the acquaintance of this
man, eleven years his senior, and already famous, appears to have
been both useful and agreeable to Robert Stevenson. It is
amusing to find my grandfather seeking high and low for a brace
of pistols which his colleague had lost by the way between
Aberdeen and Edinburgh; and writing to Messrs. Dollond, ‘I
have not thought it necessary to trouble Mr. Rennie with this
order, but <i>I beg you will see to get two minutes of him as he
passes your door</i>’—a proposal calculated rather
from the latitude of Edinburgh than from London, even in
1807. It is pretty, too, to observe with what affectionate
regard Smeaton was held in mind by his immediate
successors. ‘Poor old fellow,’ writes Rennie to
Stevenson, ‘I hope he will now and then take a peep at us,
and inspire you with fortitude and courage to brave all
difficulties and dangers to accomplish a work which will, if
successful, immortalise you in the annals of fame.’
The style might be bettered, but the sentiment is charming.</p>
<p>Smeaton was, indeed, the patron saint of the Bell Rock.
Undeterred by the sinister fate of Winstanley, he had tackled and
solved the problem of the Eddystone; but his solution had not
been in all respects perfect. It remained for my
grand-father to outdo him in daring, by applying to a tidal rock
those principles which had been already justified by the success
of the Eddystone, and to perfect the model by more than one
exemplary departure. Smeaton had adopted in his floors the
principle of the arch; each therefore exercised an outward thrust
upon the walls, which must be met and combated by embedded
chains. My grandfather’s flooring-stones, on the
other hand, were flat, made part of the outer wall, and were
keyed and dovetailed into a central stone, so as to bind the work
together and be positive elements of strength. In 1703
Winstanley still thought it possible to erect his strange pagoda,
with its open gallery, its florid scrolls and candlesticks: like
a rich man’s folly for an ornamental water in a park.
Smeaton followed; then Stevenson in his turn corrected such flaws
as were left in Smeaton’s design; and with his
improvements, it is not too much to say the model was made
perfect. Smeaton and Stevenson had between them evolved and
finished the sea-tower. No subsequent builder has departed
in anything essential from the principles of their design.
It remains, and it seems to us as though it must remain for ever,
an ideal attained. Every stone in the building, it may
interest the reader to know, my grandfather had himself cut out
in the model; and the manner in which the courses were fitted,
joggled, trenailed, wedged, and the bond broken, is intricate as
a puzzle and beautiful by ingenuity.</p>
<p>In 1806 a second Bill passed both Houses, and the preliminary
works were at once begun. The same year the Navy had taken
a great harvest of prizes in the North Sea, one of which, a
Prussian fishing dogger, flat-bottomed and rounded at the stem
and stern, was purchased to be a floating lightship, and re-named
the <i>Pharos</i>. By July 1807 she was overhauled, rigged
for her new purpose, and turned into the lee of the Isle of
May. ‘It was proposed that the whole party should
meet in her and pass the night; but she rolled from side to side
in so extraordinary a manner, that even the most seahardy
fled. It was humorously observed of this vessel that she
was in danger of making a round turn and appearing with her keel
uppermost; and that she would even turn a half-penny if laid upon
deck.’ By two o’clock on the morning of the
15th July this purgatorial vessel was moored by the Bell
Rock.</p>
<p>A sloop of forty tons had been in the meantime built at Leith,
and named the <i>Smeaton</i>; by the 7th of August my grandfather
set sail in her—</p>
<blockquote><p>‘carrying with him Mr. Peter Logan, foreman
builder, and five artificers selected from their having been
somewhat accustomed to the sea, the writer being aware of the
distressing trial which the floating light would necessarily
inflict upon landsmen from her rolling motion. Here he
remained till the 10th, and, as the weather was favourable, a
landing was effected daily, when the workmen were employed in
cutting the large seaweed from the sites of the lighthouse and
beacon, which were respectively traced with pickaxes upon the
rock. In the meantime the crew of the <i>Smeaton</i> was
employed in laying down the several sets of moorings within about
half a mile of the rock for the convenience of vessels. The
artificers, having, fortunately, experienced moderate weather,
returned to the workyard of Arbroath with a good report of their
treatment afloat; when their comrades ashore began to feel some
anxiety to see a place of which they had heard so much, and to
change the constant operations with the iron and mallet in the
process of hewing for an occasional tide’s work on the
rock, which they figured to themselves as a state of comparative
ease and comfort.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I am now for many pages to let my grandfather speak for
himself, and tell in his own words the story of his capital
achievement. The tall quarto of 533 pages from which the
following narrative has been dug out is practically unknown to
the general reader, yet good judges have perceived its merit, and
it has been named (with flattering wit) ‘The Romance of
Stone and Lime’ and ‘The Robinson Crusoe of Civil
Engineering.’ The tower was but four years in the
building; it took Robert Stevenson, in the midst of his many
avocations, no less than fourteen to prepare the
<i>Account</i>. The title-page is a solid piece of
literature of upwards of a hundred words; the table of contents
runs to thirteen pages; and the dedication (to that revered
monarch, George <span class="smcap">iv</span>) must have cost him
no little study and correspondence. Walter Scott was called
in council, and offered one miscorrection which still blots the
page. In spite of all this pondering and filing, there
remain pages not easy to construe, and inconsistencies not easy
to explain away. I have sought to make these disappear, and
to lighten a little the baggage with which my grandfather
marches; here and there I have rejointed and rearranged a
sentence, always with his own words, and all with a reverent and
faithful hand; and I offer here to the reader the true Monument
of Robert Stevenson with a little of the moss removed from the
inscription, and the Portrait of the artist with some superfluous
canvas cut away.</p>
<h3>I—OPERATIONS OF 1807</h3>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 16th Aug.]</p>
<p>Everything being arranged for sailing to the rock on Saturday
the 15th, the vessel might have proceeded on the Sunday; but
understanding that this would not be so agreeable to the
artificers it was deferred until Monday. Here we cannot
help observing that the men allotted for the operations at the
rock seemed to enter upon the undertaking with a degree of
consideration which fully marked their opinion as to the
hazardous nature of the undertaking on which they were about to
enter. They went in a body to church on Sunday, and whether
it was in the ordinary course, or designed for the occasion, the
writer is not certain, but the service was, in many respects,
suitable to their circumstances.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 17th Aug.]</p>
<p>The tide happening to fall late in the evening of Monday the
17th, the party, counting twenty-four in number, embarked on
board of the <i>Smeaton</i> about ten o’clock p.m., and
sailed from Arbroath with a gentle breeze at west. Our
ship’s colours having been flying all day in compliment to
the commencement of the work, the other vessels in the harbour
also saluted, which made a very gay appearance. A number of
the friends and acquaintances of those on board having been thus
collected, the piers, though at a late hour, were perfectly
crowded, and just as the <i>Smeaton</i> cleared the harbour, all
on board united in giving three hearty cheers, which were
returned by those on shore in such good earnest, that, in the
still of the evening, the sound must have been heard in all parts
of the town, re-echoing from the walls and lofty turrets of the
venerable Abbey of Aberbrothwick. The writer felt much
satisfaction at the manner of this parting scene, though he must
own that the present rejoicing was, on his part, mingled with
occasional reflections upon the responsibility of his situation,
which extended to the safety of all who should be engaged in this
perilous work. With such sensations he retired to his
cabin; but as the artificers were rather inclined to move about
the deck than to remain in their confined berths below, his
repose was transient, and the vessel being small every motion was
necessarily heard. Some who were musically inclined
occasionally sung; but he listened with peculiar pleasure to the
sailor at the helm, who hummed over Dibdin’s characteristic
air:—</p>
<blockquote><p>‘They say there’s a Providence sits up
aloft,<br />
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 18th Aug.]</p>
<p>The weather had been very gentle all night, and, about four in
the morning of the 18th, the <i>Smeaton</i> anchored.
Agreeably to an arranged plan of operations, all hands were
called at five o’clock a.m., just as the highest part of
the Bell Rock began to show its sable head among the light
breakers, which occasionally whitened with the foaming sea.
The two boats belonging to the floating light attended the
<i>Smeaton</i>, to carry the artificers to the rock, as her boat
could only accommodate about six or eight sitters. Every
one was more eager than his neighbour to leap into the boats and
it required a good deal of management on the part of the
coxswains to get men unaccustomed to a boat to take their places
for rowing and at the same time trimming her properly. The
landing-master and foreman went into one boat, while the writer
took charge of another, and steered it to and from the
rock. This became the more necessary in the early stages of
the work, as places could not be spared for more than two, or at
most three seamen to each boat, who were always stationed, one at
the bow, to use the boat-hook in fending or pushing off, and the
other at the aftermost oar, to give the proper time in rowing,
while the middle oars were double-banked, and rowed by the
artificers.</p>
<p>As the weather was extremely fine, with light airs of wind
from the east, we landed without difficulty upon the central part
of the rock at half-past five, but the water had not yet
sufficiently left it for commencing the work. This
interval, however, did not pass unoccupied. The first and
last of all the principal operations at the Bell Rock were
accompanied by three hearty cheers from all hands, and, on
occasions like the present, the steward of the ship attended,
when each man was regaled with a glass of rum. As the water
left the rock about six, some began to bore the holes for the
great bats or holdfasts, for fixing the beams of the
Beacon-house, while the smith was fully attended in laying out
the site of his forge, upon a somewhat sheltered spot of the
rock, which also recommended itself from the vicinity of a pool
of water for tempering his irons. These preliminary steps
occupied about an hour, and as nothing further could be done
during this tide towards fixing the forge, the workmen gratified
their curiosity by roaming about the rock, which they
investigated with great eagerness till the tide overflowed
it. Those who had been sick picked dulse (<i>Fucus
palmatus</i>), which they ate with much seeming appetite; others
were more intent upon collecting limpets for bait, to enjoy the
amusement of fishing when they returned on board of the
vessel. Indeed, none came away empty-handed, as everything
found upon the Bell Rock was considered valuable, being connected
with some interesting association. Several coins, and
numerous bits of shipwrecked iron, were picked up, of almost
every description; and, in particular, a marking-iron lettered
<span class="smcap">James</span>—a circumstance of which it
was thought proper to give notice to the public, as it might lead
to the knowledge of some unfortunate shipwreck, perhaps unheard
of till this simple occurrence led to the discovery. When
the rock began to be overflowed, the landing-master arranged the
crews of the respective boats, appointing twelve persons to
each. According to a rule which the writer had laid down to
himself, he was always the last person who left the rock.</p>
<p>In a short time the Bell Rock was laid completely under water,
and the weather being extremely fine, the sea was so smooth that
its place could not be pointed out from the appearance of the
surface—a circumstance which sufficiently demonstrates the
dangerous nature of this rock, even during the day, and in the
smoothest and calmest state of the sea. During the interval
between the morning and the evening tides, the artificers were
variously employed in fishing and reading; others were busy in
drying and adjusting their wet clothes, and one or two amused
their companions with the violin and German flute.</p>
<p>About seven in the evening the signal bell for landing on the
rock was again rung, when every man was at his quarters. In
this service it was thought more appropriate to use the bell than
to <i>pipe</i> to quarters, as the use of this instrument is less
known to the mechanic than the sound of the bell. The
landing, as in the morning, was at the eastern harbour.
During this tide the seaweed was pretty well cleared from the
site of the operations, and also from the tracks leading to the
different landing-places; for walking upon the rugged surface of
the Bell Rock, when covered with seaweed, was found to be
extremely difficult and even dangerous. Every hand that
could possibly be occupied now employed in assisting the smith to
fit up the apparatus for his forge. At 9 p.m. the boats
returned to the tender, after other two hours’ work, in the
same order as formerly—perhaps as much gratified with the
success that attended the work of this day as with any other in
the whole course of the operations. Although it could not
he said that the fatigues of this day had been great, yet all on
board retired early to rest. The sea being calm, and no
movement on deck, it was pretty generally remarked in the morning
that the bell awakened the greater number on board from their
first sleep; and though this observation was not altogether
applicable to the writer himself, yet he was not a little pleased
to find that thirty people could all at once become so reconciled
to a night’s quarters within a few hundred paces of the
Bell Rock.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 19th Aug.]</p>
<p>Being extremely anxious at this time to get forward with
fixing the smith’s forge, on which the progress of the work
at present depended, the writer requested that he might be called
at daybreak to learn the landing-master’s opinion of the
weather from the appearance of the rising sun, a criterion by
which experienced seamen can generally judge pretty accurately of
the state of the weather for the following day. About five
o’clock, on coming upon deck, the sun’s upper limb or
disc had just begun to appear as if rising from the ocean, and in
less than a minute he was seen in the fullest splendour; but
after a short interval he was enveloped in a soft cloudy sky,
which was considered emblematical of fine weather. His rays
had not yet sufficiently dispelled the clouds which hid the land
from view, and the Bell Rock being still overflowed, the whole
was one expanse of water. This scene in itself was highly
gratifying; and, when the morning bell was tolled, we were
gratified with the happy forebodings of good weather and the
expectation of having both a morning and an evening tide’s
work on the rock.</p>
<p>The boat which the writer steered happened to be the last
which approached the rock at this tide; and, in standing up in
the stern, while at some distance, to see how the leading boat
entered the creek, he was astonished to observe something in the
form of a human figure, in a reclining posture, upon one of the
ledges of the rock. He immediately steered the boat through
a narrow entrance to the eastern harbour, with a thousand
unpleasant sensations in his mind. He thought a vessel or
boat must have been wrecked upon the rock during the night; and
it seemed probable that the rock might be strewed with dead
bodies, a spectacle which could not fail to deter the artificers
from returning so freely to their work. In the midst of
these reveries the boat took the ground at an improper
landing-place; but, without waiting to push her off, he leapt
upon the rock, and making his way hastily to the spot which had
privately given him alarm, he had the satisfaction to ascertain
that he had only been deceived by the peculiar situation and
aspect of the smith’s anvil and block, which very
completely represented the appearance of a lifeless body upon the
rock. The writer carefully suppressed his feelings, the
simple mention of which might have had a bad effect upon the
artificers, and his haste passed for an anxiety to examine the
apparatus of the smith’s forge, left in an unfinished state
at evening tide.</p>
<p>In the course of this morning’s work two or three
apparently distant peals of thunder were heard, and the
atmosphere suddenly became thick and foggy. But as the
<i>Smeaton</i>, our present tender, was moored at no great
distance from the rock, the crew on board continued blowing with
a horn, and occasionally fired a musket, so that the boats got to
the ship without difficulty.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 20th Aug.]</p>
<p>The wind this morning inclined from the north-east, and the
sky had a heavy and cloudy appearance, but the sea was smooth,
though there was an undulating motion on, the surface, which
indicated easterly winds, and occasioned a slight surf upon the
rock. But the boats found no difficulty in landing at the
western creek at half-past seven, and, after a good tide’s
work, left it again about a quarter from eleven. In the
evening the artificers landed at half-past seven, and continued
till half-past eight, having completed the fixing of the
smith’s forge, his vice, and a wooden board or bench, which
were also batted to a ledge of the rock, to the great joy of all,
under a salute of three hearty cheers. From an oversight on
the part of the smith, who had neglected to bring his tinder-box
and matches from the vessel, the work was prevented from being
continued for at least an hour longer.</p>
<p>The smith’s shop was, of course, in <i>open space</i>:
the large bellows were carried to and from the rock every tide,
for the serviceable condition of which, together with the
tinder-box, fuel, and embers of the former fire, the smith was
held responsible. Those who have been placed in situations
to feel the inconveniency and want of this useful artisan, will
be able to appreciate his value in a case like the present.
It often happened, to our annoyance and disappointment, in the
early state of the work, when the smith was in the middle of a
<i>favourite heat</i> in making some useful article, or in
sharpening the tools, after the flood-tide had obliged the
pickmen to strike work, a sea would come rolling over the rocks,
dash out the fire, and endanger his indispensable implement, the
bellows. If the sea was smooth, while the smith often stood
at work knee-deep in water, the tide rose by imperceptible
degrees, first cooling the exterior of the fireplace, or hearth,
and then quietly blackening and extinguishing the fire from
below. The writer has frequently been amused at the
perplexing anxiety of the blacksmith when coaxing his fire and
endeavouring to avert the effects of the rising tide.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 21st Aug.]</p>
<p>Everything connected with the forge being now completed, the
artificers found no want of sharp tools, and the work went
forward with great alacrity and spirit. It was also alleged
that the rock had a more habitable appearance from the volumes of
smoke which ascended from the smith’s shop and the busy
noise of his anvil, the operations of the masons, the movements
of the boats, and shipping at a distance—all contributed to
give life and activity to the scene. This noise and traffic
had, however, the effect of almost completely banishing the herd
of seals which had hitherto frequented the rock as a
resting-place during the period of low water. The rock
seemed to be peculiarly adapted to their habits, for, excepting
two or three days at neap-tides, a part of it always dries at low
water—at least, during the summer season—and as there
was good fishing-ground in the neighbourhood, without a human
being to disturb or molest them, it had become a very favourite
residence of these amphibious animals, the writer having
occasionally counted from fifty to sixty playing about the rock
at a time. But when they came to be disturbed every tide,
and their seclusion was broken in upon by the kindling of great
fires, together with the beating of hammers and picks during low
water, after hovering about for a time, they changed their place,
and seldom more than one or two were to be seen about the rock
upon the more detached outlayers which dry partially, whence they
seemed to look with that sort of curiosity which is observable in
these animals when following a boat.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 22nd Aug.]</p>
<p>Hitherto the artificers had remained on board the
<i>Smeaton</i>, which was made fast to one of the mooring buoys
at a distance only of about a quarter of a mile from the rock,
and, of course, a very great conveniency to the work. Being
so near, the seamen could never be mistaken as to the progress of
the tide, or state of the sea upon the rock, nor could the boats
be much at a loss to pull on board of the vessel during fog, or
even in very rough weather; as she could be cast loose from her
moorings at pleasure, and brought to the lee side of the
rock. But the <i>Smeaton</i> being only about forty
register tons, her accommodations were extremely limited.
It may, therefore, be easily imagined that an addition of
twenty-four persons to her own crew must have rendered the
situation of those on board rather uncomfortable. The only
place for the men’s hammocks on board being in the hold,
they were unavoidably much crowded: and if the weather had
required the hatches to be fastened down, so great a number of
men could not possibly have been accommodated. To add to
this evil, the <i>co-boose</i> or cooking-place being upon deck,
it would not have been possible to have cooked for so large a
company in the event of bad weather.</p>
<p>The stock of water was now getting short, and some necessaries
being also wanted for the floating light, the <i>Smeaton</i> was
despatched for Arbroath; and the writer, with the artificers at
the same time shifted their quarters from her to the floating
light.</p>
<p>Although the rock barely made its appearance at this period of
the tides till eight o’clock, yet, having now a full mile
to row from the floating light to the rock, instead of about a
quarter of a mile from the moorings of the <i>Smeaton</i>, it was
necessary to be earlier astir, and to form different
arrangements; breakfast was accordingly served up at seven
o’clock this morning. From the excessive motion of
the floating light, the writer had looked forward rather with
anxiety to the removal of the workmen to this ship. Some
among them, who had been congratulating themselves upon having
become sea-hardy while on board the <i>Smeaton</i>, had a
complete relapse upon returning to the floating light. This
was the case with the writer. From the spacious and
convenient berthage of the floating light, the exchange to the
artificers was, in this respect, much for the better. The
boats were also commodious, measuring sixteen feet in length on
the keel, so that, in fine weather, their complement of sitters
was sixteen persons for each, with which, however, they were
rather crowded, but she could not stow two boats of larger
dimensions. When there was what is called a breeze of wind,
and a swell in the sea, the proper number for each boat could
not, with propriety, be rated at more than twelve persons.</p>
<p>When the tide-bell rung the boats were hoisted out, and two
active seamen were employed to keep them from receiving damage
alongside. The floating light being very buoyant, was so
quick in her motions that when those who were about to step from
her gunwale into a boat, placed themselves upon a cleat or step
on the ship’s side, with the man or rail ropes in their
hands, they had often to wait for some time till a favourable
opportunity occurred for stepping into the boat. While in
this situation, with the vessel rolling from side to side,
watching the proper time for letting go the man-ropes, it
required the greatest dexterity and presence of mind to leap into
the boats. One who was rather awkward would often wait a
considerable period in this position: at one time his side of the
ship would be so depressed that he would touch the boat to which
he belonged, while the next sea would elevate him so much that he
would see his comrades in the boat on the opposite side of the
ship, his friends in the one boat calling to him to
‘Jump,’ while those in the boat on the other side, as
he came again and again into their view, would jocosely say,
‘Are you there yet? You seem to enjoy a
swing.’ In this situation it was common to see a
person upon each side of the ship for a length of time, waiting
to quit his hold.</p>
<p>On leaving the rock to-day a trial of seamanship was proposed
amongst the rowers, for by this time the artificers had become
tolerably expert in this exercise. By inadvertency some of
the oars provided had been made of fir instead of ash, and
although a considerable stock had been laid in, the workmen,
being at first awkward in the art, were constantly breaking their
oars; indeed it was no uncommon thing to see the broken blades of
a pair of oars floating astern, in the course of a passage from
the rock to the vessel. The men, upon the whole, had but
little work to perform in the course of a day; for though they
exerted themselves extremely hard while on the rock, yet, in the
early state of the operations, this could not be continued for
more than three or four hours at a time, and as their rations
were large—consisting of one pound and a half of beef, one
pound of ship biscuit, eight ounces oatmeal, two ounces barley,
two ounces butter, three quarts of small beer, with vegetables
and salt—they got into excellent spirits when free of
sea-sickness. The rowing of the boats against each other
became a favourite amusement, which was rather a fortunate
circumstance, as it must have been attended with much
inconvenience had it been found necessary to employ a sufficient
number of sailors for this purpose. The writer, therefore,
encouraged the spirit of emulation, and the speed of their
respective boats became a favourite topic. Premiums for
boat-races were instituted, which were contended for with great
eagerness, and the respective crews kept their stations in the
boats with as much precision as they kept their beds on board of
the ship. With these and other pastimes, when the weather
was favourable, the time passed away among the inmates of the
forecastle and waist of the ship. The writer looks back
with interest upon the hours of solitude which he spent in this
lonely ship with his small library.</p>
<p>This being the first Saturday that the artificers were afloat,
all hands were served with a glass of rum and water at night, to
drink the sailors’ favourite toast of ‘Wives and
Sweethearts.’ It was customary, upon these occasions,
for the seamen and artificers to collect in the galley, when the
musical instruments were put in requisition: for, according to
invariable practice, every man must play a tune, sing a song, or
tell a story.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 23rd Aug.]</p>
<p>Having, on the previous evening, arranged matters with the
landing-master as to the business of the day, the signal was rung
for all hands at half-past seven this morning. In the early
state of the spring-tides the artificers went to the rock before
breakfast, but as the tides fell later in the day, it became
necessary to take this meal before leaving the ship. At
eight o’clock all hands were assembled on the quarter-deck
for prayers, a solemnity which was gone through in as orderly a
manner as circumstances would admit. When the weather
permitted, the flags of the ship were hung up as an awning or
screen, forming the quarter-deck into a distinct compartment; the
pendant was also hoisted at the mainmast, and a large ensign flag
was displayed over the stern; and lastly, the ship’s
companion, or top of the staircase, was covered with the <i>flag
proper</i> of the Lighthouse Service, on which the Bible was
laid. A particular toll of the bell called all hands to the
quarter-deck, when the writer read a chapter of the Bible, and,
the whole ship’s company being uncovered, he also read the
impressive prayer composed by the Reverend Dr. Brunton, one of
the ministers of Edinburgh.</p>
<p>Upon concluding this service, which was attended with becoming
reverence and attention, all on board retired to their respective
berths to breakfast, and, at half-past nine, the bell again rung
for the artificers to take their stations in their respective
boats. Some demur having been evinced on board about the
propriety of working on Sunday, which had hitherto been touched
upon as delicately as possible, all hands being called aft, the
writer, from the quarter-deck, stated generally the nature of the
service, expressing his hopes that every man would feel himself
called upon to consider the erection of a lighthouse on the Bell
Rock, in every point of view, as a work of necessity and
mercy. He knew that scruples had existed with some, and
these had, indeed, been fairly and candidly urged before leaving
the shore; but it was expected that, after having seen the
critical nature of the rock, and the necessity of the measure,
every man would now be satisfied of the propriety of embracing
all opportunities of landing on the rock when the state of the
weather would permit. The writer further took them to
witness that it did not proceed from want of respect for the
appointments and established forms of religion that he had
himself adopted the resolution of attending the Bell Rock works
on the Sunday; but, as he hoped, from a conviction that it was
his bounden duty, on the strictest principles of morality.
At the same time it was intimated that, if any were of a
different opinion, they should be perfectly at liberty to hold
their sentiments without the imputation of contumacy or
disobedience; the only difference would be in regard to the
pay.</p>
<p>Upon stating this much, he stepped into his boat, requesting
all who were so disposed to follow him. The sailors, from
their habits, found no scruple on this subject, and all of the
artificers, though a little tardy, also embarked, excepting four
of the masons, who, from the beginning, mentioned that they would
decline working on Sundays. It may here be noticed that
throughout the whole of the operations it was observable that the
men wrought, if possible, with more keenness upon the Sundays
than at other times from an impression that they were engaged in
a work of imperious necessity, which required every possible
exertion. On returning to the floating light, after
finishing the tide’s work, the boats were received by the
part of the ship’s crew left on board with the usual
attention of handing ropes to the boats and helping the
artificers on board; but the four masons who had absented
themselves from the work did not appear upon deck.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 24th Aug.]</p>
<p>The boats left the floating light at a quarter-past nine
o’clock this morning, and the work began at three-quarters
past nine; but as the neap-tides were approaching the working
time at the rock became gradually shorter, and it was now with
difficulty that two and a half hours’ work could be
got. But so keenly had the workmen entered into the spirit
of the beacon-house operations, that they continued to bore the
holes in the rock till some of them were knee-deep in water.</p>
<p>The operations at this time were entirely directed to the
erection of the beacon, in which every man felt an equal
interest, as at this critical period the slightest casualty to
any of the boats at the rock might have been fatal to himself
individually, while it was perhaps peculiar to the writer more
immediately to feel for the safety of the whole. Each log
or upright beam of the beacon was to be fixed to the rock by two
strong and massive bats or stanchions of iron. These bats,
for the fixture of the principal and diagonal beams and bracing
chains, required fifty-four holes, each measuring two inches in
diameter and eighteen inches in depth. There had already
been so considerable a progress made in boring and excavating the
holes that the writer’s hopes of getting the beacon erected
this year began to be more and more confirmed, although it was
now advancing towards what was considered the latter end of the
proper working season at the Bell Rock. The foreman joiner,
Mr. Francis Watt, was accordingly appointed to attend at the rock
to-day, when the necessary levels were taken for the step or seat
of each particular beam of the beacon, that they might be cut to
their respective lengths, to suit the inequalities of the rock;
several of the stanchions were also tried into their places, and
other necessary observations made, to prevent mistakes on the
application of the apparatus, and to facilitate the operations
when the beams came to be set up, which would require to be done
in the course of a single tide.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 25th Aug.]</p>
<p>We had now experienced an almost unvaried tract of light airs
of easterly wind, with clear weather in the fore-part of the day
and fog in the evenings. To-day, however, it sensibly
changed; when the wind came to the south-west, and blew a fresh
breeze. At nine a.m. the bell rung, and the boats were
hoisted out, and though the artificers were now pretty well
accustomed to tripping up and down the sides of the floating
light, yet it required more seamanship this morning than
usual. It therefore afforded some merriment to those who
had got fairly seated in their respective boats to see the
difficulties which attended their companions, and the hesitating
manner in which they quitted hold of the man-ropes in leaving the
ship. The passage to the rock was tedious, and the boats
did not reach it till half-past ten.</p>
<p>It being now the period of neap-tides, the water only
partially left the rock, and some of the men who were boring on
the lower ledges of the site of the beacon stood knee-deep in
water. The situation of the smith to-day was particularly
disagreeable, but his services were at all times
indispensable. As the tide did not leave the site of the
forge, he stood in the water, and as there was some roughness on
the surface it was with considerable difficulty that, with the
assistance of the sailors, he was enabled to preserve alive his
fire; and, while his feet were immersed in water, his face was
not only scorched but continually exposed to volumes of smoke,
accompanied with sparks from the fire, which were occasionally
set up owing to the strength and direction of the wind.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 26th Aug.]</p>
<p>The wind had shifted this morning to N.N.W., with rain, and
was blowing what sailors call a fresh breeze. To speak,
perhaps, somewhat more intelligibly to the general reader, the
wind was such that a fishing-boat could just carry full
sail. But as it was of importance, specially in the outset
of the business, to keep up the spirit of enterprise for landing
on all practicable occasions, the writer, after consulting with
the landing-master, ordered the bell to be rung for embarking,
and at half-past eleven the boats reached the rock, and left it
again at a quarter-past twelve, without, however, being able to
do much work, as the smith could not be set to work from the
smallness of the ebb and the strong breach of sea, which lashed
with great force among the bars of the forge.</p>
<p>Just as we were about to leave the rock the wind shifted to
the S.W., and, from a fresh gale, it became what seamen term a
hard gale, or such as would have required the fisherman to take
in two or three reefs in his sail. It is a curious fact
that the respective tides of ebb and flood are apparent upon the
shore about an hour and a half sooner than at the distance of
three or four miles in the offing. But what seems chiefly
interesting here is that the tides around this small sunken rock
should follow exactly the same laws as on the extensive shores of
the mainland. When the boats left the Bell Rock to-day it
was overflowed by the flood-tide, but the floating light did not
swing round to the flood-tide for more than an hour
afterwards. Under this disadvantage the boats had to
struggle with the ebb-tide and a hard gale of wind, so that it
was with the greatest difficulty that they reached the floating
light. Had this gale happened in spring-tides when the
current was strong we must have been driven to sea in a very
helpless condition.</p>
<p>The boat which the writer steered was considerably behind the
other, one of the masons having unluckily broken his oar.
Our prospect of getting on board, of course, became doubtful, and
our situation was rather perilous, as the boat shipped so much
sea that it occupied two of the artificers to bale and clear her
of water. When the oar gave way we were about half a mile
from the ship, but, being fortunately to windward, we got into
the wake of the floating light, at about 250 fathoms astern, just
as the landing-master’s boat reached the vessel. He
immediately streamed or floated a life-buoy astern, with a line
which was always in readiness, and by means of this useful
implement the boat was towed alongside of the floating light,
where, from her rolling motion, it required no small management
to get safely on board, as the men were much worn out with their
exertions in pulling from the rock. On the present occasion
the crews of both boats were completely drenched with spray, and
those who sat upon the bottom of the boats to bale them were
sometimes pretty deep in the water before it could be cleared
out. After getting on board, all hands were allowed an
extra dram, and, having shifted and got a warm and comfortable
dinner, the affair, it is believed, was little more thought
of.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 27th Aug.]</p>
<p>The tides were now in that state which sailors term the dead
of the neap, and it was not expected that any part of the rock
would be seen above water to-day; at any rate, it was obvious,
from the experience of yesterday, that no work could be done upon
it, and therefore the artificers were not required to land.
The wind was at west, with light breezes, and fine clear weather;
and as it was an object with the writer to know the actual state
of the Bell Rock at neap-tides, he got one of the boats manned,
and, being accompanied by the landing-master, went to it at a
quarter-past twelve. The parts of the rock that appeared
above water being very trifling, were covered by every wave, so
that no landing was made. Upon trying the depth of water
with a boathook, particularly on the sites of the lighthouse and
beacon, on the former, at low water, the depth was found to be
three feet, and on the central parts of the latter it was
ascertained to be two feet eight inches. Having made these
remarks, the boat returned to the ship at two p.m., and the
weather being good, the artificers were found amusing themselves
with fishing. The <i>Smeaton</i> came from Arbroath this
afternoon, and made fast to her moorings, having brought letters
and newspapers, with parcels of clean linen, etc., for the
workmen, who were also made happy by the arrival of three of
their comrades from the workyard ashore. From these men
they not only received all the news of the workyard, but seemed
themselves to enjoy great pleasure in communicating whatever they
considered to be interesting with regard to the rock. Some
also got letters from their friends at a distance, the postage of
which for the men afloat was always free, so that they
corresponded the more readily.</p>
<p>The site of the building having already been carefully traced
out with the pick-axe, the artificers this day commenced the
excavation of the rock for the foundation or first course of the
lighthouse. Four men only were employed at this work, while
twelve continued at the site of the beacon-house, at which every
possible opportunity was embraced, till this essential art of the
operations should be completed.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 2nd Sept.]</p>
<p>The floating light’s bell rung this morning at half-past
four o’clock, as a signal for the boats to be got ready,
and the landing took place at half-past five. In passing
the <i>Smeaton</i> at her moorings near the rock, her boat
followed with eight additional artificers who had come from
Arbroath with her at last trip, but there being no room for them
in the floating light’s boats, they had continued on
board. The weather did not look very promising in the
morning, the wind blowing pretty fresh from W.S.W.: and had it
not been that the writer calculated upon having a vessel so much
at command, in all probability he would not have ventured to
land. The <i>Smeaton</i> rode at what sailors call a
<i>salvagee</i>, with a cross-head made fast to the floating
buoy. This kind of attachment was found to be more
convenient than the mode of passing the hawser through the ring
of the buoy when the vessel was to be made fast. She had
then only to be steered very close to the buoy, when the salvagee
was laid hold of with a boat-hook, and the <i>bite</i> of the
hawser thrown over the cross-head. But the salvagee, by
this method, was always left at the buoy, and was, of course,
more liable to chafe and wear than a hawser passed through the
ring, which could be wattled with canvas, and shifted at
pleasure. The salvagee and cross method is, however, much
practised; but the experience of this morning showed it to be
very unsuitable for vessels riding in an exposed situation for
any length of time.</p>
<p>Soon after the artificers landed they commenced work; but the
wind coming to blow hard, the <i>Smeaton’s</i> boat and
crew, who had brought their complement of eight men to the rock,
went off to examine her riding ropes, and see that they were in
proper order. The boat had no sooner reached the vessel
than she went adrift, carrying the boat along with her. By
the time that she was got round to make a tack towards the rock,
she had drifted at least three miles to leeward, with the
praam-boat astern; and, having both the wind and a tide against
her, the writer perceived, with no little anxiety, that she could
not possibly return to the rock till long after its being
overflowed; for, owing to the anomaly of the tides formerly
noticed, the Bell Rock is completely under water when the ebb
abates to the offing.</p>
<p>In this perilous predicament, indeed, he found himself placed
between hope and despair—but certainly the latter was by
much the most predominant feeling of his mind—situate upon
a sunken rock in the middle of the ocean, which, in the progress
of the flood-tide, was to be laid under water to the depth of at
least twelve feet in a stormy sea. There were this morning
thirty-two persons in all upon the rock, with only two boats,
whose complement, even in good weather, did not exceed
twenty-four sitters; but to row to the floating light with so
much wind, and in so heavy a sea, a complement of eight men for
each boat was as much as could, with propriety, be attempted, so
that, in this way, about one-half of our number was unprovided
for. Under these circumstances, had the writer ventured to
despatch one of the boats in expectation of either working the
<i>Smeaton</i> sooner up towards the rock, or in hopes of getting
her boat brought to our assistance, this must have given an
immediate alarm to the artificers, each of whom would have
insisted upon taking to his own boat, and leaving the eight
artificers belonging to the <i>Smeaton</i> to their chance.
Of course a scuffle might have ensued, and it is hard to say, in
the ardour of men contending for life, where it might have
ended. It has even been hinted to the writer that a party
of the <i>pickmen</i> were determined to keep exclusively to
their own boat against all hazards.</p>
<p>The unfortunate circumstance of the <i>Smeaton</i> and her
boat having drifted was, for a considerable time, only known to
the writer and to the landing-master, who removed to the farther
point of the rock, where he kept his eye steadily upon the
progress of the vessel. While the artificers were at work,
chiefly in sitting or kneeling postures, excavating the rock, or
boring with the jumpers, and while their numerous hammers, with
the sound of the smith’s anvil, continued, the situation of
things did not appear so awful. In this state of suspense,
with almost certain destruction at hand, the water began to rise
upon those who were at work on the lower parts of the sites of
the beacon and lighthouse. From the run of sea upon the
rock, the forge fire was also sooner extinguished this morning
than usual, and the volumes of smoke having ceased, objects in
every direction became visible from all parts of the rock.
After having had about three ‘hours’ work, the men
began, pretty generally, to make towards their respective boats
for their jackets and stockings, when, to their astonishment,
instead of three, they found only two boats, the third being
adrift with the <i>Smeaton</i>. Not a word was uttered by
any one, but all appeared to be silently calculating their
numbers, and looking to each other with evident marks of
perplexity depicted in their countenances. The
landing-master, conceiving that blame might be attached to him
for allowing the boat to leave the rock, still kept at a
distance. At this critical moment the author was standing
upon an elevated part of Smith’s Ledge, where he
endeavoured to mark the progress of the <i>Smeaton</i>, not a
little surprised that her crew did not cut the praam adrift,
which greatly retarded her way, and amazed that some effort was
not making to bring at least the boat, and attempt our
relief. The workmen looked steadfastly upon the writer, and
turned occasionally towards the vessel, still far to leeward. <a
name="citation122a"></a><a href="#footnote122a"
class="citation">[122a]</a> All this passed in the most
perfect silence, and the melancholy solemnity of the group made
an impression never to be effaced from his mind.</p>
<p>The writer had all along been considering of various
schemes—providing the men could be kept under
command—which might be put in practice for the general
safety, in hopes that the <i>Smeaton</i> might be able to pick up
the boats to leeward, when they were obliged to leave the
rock. He was, accordingly, about to address the artificers
on the perilous nature of their circumstances, and to propose
that all hands should unstrip their upper clothing when the
higher parts of the rock were laid under water; that the seamen
should remove every unnecessary weight and encumbrance from the
boats; that a specified number of men should go into each boat,
and that the remainder should hang by the gunwales, while the
boats were to be rowed gently towards the <i>Smeaton</i>, as the
course to the <i>Pharos</i>, or floating light, lay rather to
windward of the rock. But when he attempted 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. He turned to one of the pools on
the rock and lapped a little water, which produced immediate
relief. But what was his happiness, when on rising from
this unpleasant beverage, some one called out, ‘A boat! a
boat!’ and, on looking around, at no great distance, a
large boat was seen through the haze making towards the
rock. This at once enlivened and rejoiced every
heart. The timeous visitor proved to be James Spink, the
Bell Rock pilot, who had come express from Arbroath with
letters. Spink had for some time seen the <i>Smeaton</i>,
and had even supposed, from the state of the weather, that all
hands were on board of her till he approached more nearly and
observed people upon the rock; but not supposing that the
assistance of his boat was necessary to carry the artificers off
the rock, he anchored on the lee-side and began to fish, waiting,
as usual, till the letters were sent for, as the pilot-boat was
too large and unwieldy for approaching the rock when there was
any roughness or run of the sea at the entrance of the landing
creeks.</p>
<p>Upon this fortunate change of circumstances, sixteen of the
artificers were sent, at two trips, in one of the boats, with
instructions for Spink to proceed with them to the floating
light. This being accomplished, the remaining sixteen
followed in the two boats belonging to the service of the
rock. Every one felt the most perfect happiness at leaving
the Bell Rock this morning, though a very hard and even dangerous
passage to the floating light still awaited us, as the wind by
this time had increased to a pretty hard gale, accompanied with a
considerable swell of sea. Every one was as completely
drenched in water as if he had been dragged astern of the
boats. The writer, in particular, being at the helm, found,
on getting on board, that his face and ears were completely
coated with a thin film of salt from the sea spray, which broke
constantly over the bows of the boat. After much baling of
water and severe work at the oars, the three boats reached the
floating light, where some new difficulties occurred in getting
on board in safety, owing partly to the exhausted state of the
men, and partly to the violent rolling of the vessel.</p>
<p>As the tide flowed, it was expected that the <i>Smeaton</i>
would have got to windward; but, seeing that all was safe, after
tacking for several hours and making little progress, she bore
away for Arbroath, with the praam-boat. As there was now
too much wind for the pilot-boat to return to Arbroath, she was
made fast astern of the floating light, and the crew remained on
board till next day, when the weather moderated. There can
be very little doubt that the appearance of James Spink with his
boat on this critical occasion was the means of preventing the
loss of lives at the rock this morning. When these
circumstances, some years afterwards, came to the knowledge of
the Board, a small pension was ordered to our faithful pilot,
then in his seventieth year; and he still continues to wear the
uniform clothes and badge of the Lighthouse service. Spink
is a remarkably strong man, whose <i>tout ensemble</i> is highly
characteristic of a North-country fisherman. He usually
dresses in a <i>pé-jacket</i>, cut after a particular
fashion, and wears a large, flat, blue bonnet. A striking
likeness of Spink in his pilot-dress, with the badge or insignia
on his left arm which is characteristic of the boatmen in the
service of the Northern Lights, has been taken by Howe, and is in
the writer’s possession.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 3rd Sept.]</p>
<p>The bell rung this morning at five o’clock, but the
writer must acknowledge, from the circumstances of yesterday,
that its sound was extremely unwelcome. This appears also
to have been the feelings of the artificers, for when they came
to be mustered, out of twenty-six, only eight, besides the
foreman and seamen, appeared upon deck to accompany the writer to
the rock. Such are the baneful effects of anything like
misfortune or accident connected with a work of this
description. The use of argument to persuade the men to
embark in cases of this kind would have been out of place, as it
is not only discomfort, or even the risk of the loss of a limb,
but life itself that becomes the question. The boats,
notwithstanding the thinness of our ranks, left the vessel at
half-past five. The rough weather of yesterday having
proved but a summer’s gale, the wind came to-day in gentle
breezes; yet, the atmosphere being cloudy, it a not a very
favourable appearance. The boats reached the rock at six
a.m., and the eight artificers who landed were employed in
clearing out the bat-holes for the beacon-house, and had a very
prosperous tide of four hours’ work, being the longest yet
experienced by half an hour.</p>
<p>The boats left the rock again at ten o’clock, and the
weather having cleared up as we drew near the vessel, the
eighteen artificers who had remained on board were observed upon
deck, but as the boats approached they sought their way below,
being quite ashamed of their conduct. This was the only
instance of refusal to go to the rock which occurred during the
whole progress of the work, excepting that of the four men who
declined working upon Sunday, a case which the writer did not
conceive to be at all analogous to the present. It may here
be mentioned, much to the credit of these four men, that they
stood foremost in embarking for the rock this morning.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 5th Sept.]</p>
<p>It was fortunate that a landing was not attempted this
evening, for at eight o’clock the wind shifted to E.S.E.,
and at ten it had become a hard gale, when fifty fathoms of the
floating light’s hempen cable were veered out. The
gale still increasing, the ship rolled and laboured excessively,
and at midnight eighty fathoms of cable were veered out; while
the sea continued to strike the vessel with a degree of force
which had not before been experienced.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 6th Sept.]</p>
<p>During the last night there was little rest on board of the
<i>Pharos</i>, and daylight, though anxiously wished for, brought
no relief, as the gale continued with unabated violence.
The sea struck so hard upon the vessel’s bows that it rose
in great quantities, or in ‘green seas,’ as the
sailors termed it, which were carried by the wind as far aft as
the quarter-deck, and not infrequently over the stern of the ship
altogether. It fell occasionally so heavily on the skylight
of the writer’s cabin, though so far aft as to be within
five feet of the helm, that the glass was broken to pieces before
the dead-light could be got into its place, so that the water
poured down in great quantities. In shutting out the water,
the admission of light was prevented, and in the morning all
continued in the most comfortless state of darkness. About
ten o’clock a.m. the wind shifted to N.E., and blew, if
possible, harder than before, and it was accompanied by a much
heavier swell of sea. In the course of the gale, the part
of the cable in the hause-hole had been so often shifted that
nearly the whole length of one of her hempen cables, of 120
fathoms, had been veered out, besides the chain-moorings.
The cable, for its preservation, was also carefully served or
wattled with pieces of canvas round the windlass, and with
leather well greased in the hause-hole. In this state
things remained during the whole day, every sea which struck the
vessel—and the seas followed each other in close
succession—causing her to shake, and all on board
occasionally to tremble. At each of these strokes of the
sea the rolling and pitching of the vessel ceased for a time, and
her motion was felt as if she had either broke adrift before the
wind or were in the act of sinking; but, when another sea came,
she ranged up against it with great force, and this became the
regular intimation of our being still riding at anchor.</p>
<p>About eleven o’clock, the writer with some difficulty
got out of bed, but, in attempting to dress, he was thrown twice
upon the floor at the opposite end of the cabin. In an
undressed state he made shift to get about half-way up the
companion-stairs, with an intention to observe the state of the
sea and of the ship upon deck; but he no sooner looked over the
companion than a heavy sea struck the vessel, which fell on the
quarter-deck, and rushed downstairs in the officers’ cabin
in so considerable a quantity that it was found necessary to lift
one of the scuttles in the floor, to let the water into the
limbers of the ship, as it dashed from side to side in such a
manner as to run into the lower tier of beds. Having been
foiled in this attempt, and being completely wetted, he again got
below and went to bed. In this state of the weather the
seamen had to move about the necessary or indispensable duties of
the ship with the most cautious use both of hands and feet, while
it required all the art of the landsman to keep within the
precincts of his bed. The writer even found himself so much
tossed about that it became necessary, in some measure, to shut
himself in bed, in order to avoid being thrown upon the
floor. Indeed, such was the motion of the ship that it
seemed wholly impracticable to remain in any other than a lying
posture. On deck the most stormy aspect presented itself,
while below all was wet and comfortless.</p>
<p> About two o’clock p.m. a great alarm was given
throughout the ship from the effects of a very heavy sea which
struck her, and almost filled the waist, pouring down into the
berths below, through every chink and crevice of the hatches and
skylights. From the motion of the vessel being thus
suddenly deadened or checked, and from the flowing in of the
water above, it is believed there was not an individual on board
who did not think, at the moment, that the vessel had foundered,
and was in the act of sinking. The writer could withstand
this no longer, and as soon as she again began to range to the
sea he determined to make another effort to get upon deck.
In the first instance, however, he groped his way in darkness
from his own cabin through the berths of the officers, where all
was quietness. He next entered the galley and other
compartments occupied by the artificers. Here also all was
shut up in darkness, the fire having been drowned out in the
early part of the gale. Several of the artificers were
employed in prayer, repeating psalms and other devotional
exercises in a full tone of voice; others protesting that, if
they should fortunately get once more on shore, no one should
ever see them afloat again. With the assistance of the
landing-master, the writer made his way, holding on step by step,
among the numerous impediments which lay in the way. Such
was the creaking noise of the bulk-heads or partitions, the
dashing of the water, and the whistling noise of the winds, that
it was hardly possible to break in upon such a confusion of
sounds. In one or two instances, anxious and repeated
inquiries were made by the artificers as to the state of things
upon deck, to which the captain made the usual answer, that it
could not blow long in this way, and that we must soon have
better weather. The next berth in succession, moving
forward in the ship, was that allotted for the seamen. Here
the scene was considerably different. Having reached the
middle of this darksome berth without its inmates being aware of
any intrusion, the writer had the consolation of remarking that,
although they talked of bad weather and the cross accidents of
the sea, yet the conversation was carried on in that sort of tone
and manner which bespoke an ease and composure of mind highly
creditable to them and pleasing to him. The writer
immediately accosted the seamen about the state of the
ship. To these inquiries they replied that the vessel being
light, and having but little hold of the water, no top-rigging,
with excellent ground-tackle, and everything being fresh and new,
they felt perfect confidence in their situation.</p>
<p>It being impossible to open any of the hatches in the fore
part of the ship in communicating with the deck, the watch was
changed by passing through the several berths to the
companion-stair leading to the quarter-deck. The writer,
therefore, made the best of his way aft, and, on a second attempt
to look out, he succeeded, and saw indeed an astonishing
sight. The sea or waves appeared to be ten or fifteen feet
in height of unbroken water, and every approaching billow seemed
as if it would overwhelm our vessel, but she continued to rise
upon the waves and to fall between the seas in a very wonderful
manner. It seemed to be only those seas which caught her in
the act of rising which struck her with so much violence and
threw such quantities of water aft. On deck there was only
one solitary individual looking out, to give the alarm in the
event of the ship breaking from her moorings. The seaman on
watch continued only two hours; he who kept watch at this time
was a tall, slender man of a black complexion; he had no
greatcoat nor over-all of any kind, but was simply dressed in his
ordinary jacket and trousers; his hat was tied under his chin
with a napkin, and he stood aft the foremast, to which he had
lashed himself with a gasket or small rope round his waist, to
prevent his falling upon deck or being washed overboard.
When the writer looked up, he appeared to smile, which afforded a
further symptom of the confidence of the crew in their
ship. This person on watch was as completely wetted as if
he had been drawn through the sea, which was given as a reason
for his not putting on a greatcoat, that he might wet as few of
his clothes as possible, and have a dry shift when he went
below. Upon deck everything that was movable was out of
sight, having either been stowed below, previous to the gale, or
been washed overboard. Some trifling parts of the quarter
boards were damaged by the breach of the sea; and one of the
boats upon deck was about one-third full of water, the oyle-hole
or drain having been accidently stopped up, and part of her
gunwale had received considerable injury. These
observations were hastily made, and not without occasionally
shutting the companion, to avoid being wetted by the successive
seas which broke over the bows and fell upon different parts of
the deck according to the impetus with which the waves struck the
vessel. By this time it was about three o’clock in
the afternoon, and the gale, which had now continued with
unabated force for twenty-seven hours, had not the least
appearance of going off.</p>
<p>In the dismal prospect of undergoing another night like the
last, and being in imminent hazard of parting from our cable, the
writer thought it necessary to advise with the master and
officers of the ship as to the probable event of the
vessel’s drifting from her moorings. They severally
gave it as their opinion that we had now every chance of riding
out the gale, which, in all probability, could not continue with
the same fury many hours longer; and that even if she should part
from her anchor, the storm-sails had been laid to hand, and could
be bent in a very short time. They further stated that from
the direction of the wind being N.E., she would sail up the Firth
of Forth to Leith Roads. But if this should appear
doubtful, after passing the Island and Light of May, it might be
advisable at once to steer for Tyningham Sands, on the western
side of Dunbar, and there run the vessel ashore. If this
should happen at the time of high-water, or during the ebbing of
the tide, they were of opinion, from the flatness and strength of
the floating light, that no danger would attend her taking the
ground, even with a very heavy sea. The writer, seeing the
confidence which these gentlemen possessed with regard to the
situation of things, found himself as much relieved with this
conversation as he had previously been with the seeming
indifference of the forecastle men, and the smile of the watch
upon deck, though literally lashed to the foremast. From
this time he felt himself almost perfectly at ease; at any rate,
he was entirely resigned to the ultimate result.</p>
<p>About six o’clock in the evening the ship’s
company was heard moving upon deck, which on the present occasion
was rather the cause of alarm. The writer accordingly rang
his bell to know what was the matter, when he was informed by the
steward that the weather looked considerably better, and that the
men upon deck were endeavouring to ship the smoke-funnel of the
galley that the people might get some meat. This was a more
favourable account than had been anticipated. During the
last twenty-one hours he himself had not only had nothing to eat,
but he had almost never passed a thought on the subject.
Upon the mention of a change of weather, he sent the steward to
learn how the artificers felt, and on his return he stated that
they now seemed to be all very happy, since the cook had begun to
light the galley-fire and make preparations for the suet-pudding
of Sunday, which was the only dish to be attempted for the mess,
from the ease with which it could both be cooked and served
up.</p>
<p>The principal change felt upon the ship as the wind abated was
her increased rolling motion, but the pitching was much
diminished, and now hardly any sea came farther aft than the
foremast: but she rolled so extremely hard as frequently to dip
and take in water over the gunwales and rails in the waist.
By nine o’clock all hands had been refreshed by the
exertions of the cook and steward, and were happy in the prospect
of the worst of the gale being over. The usual complement
of men was also now set on watch, and more quietness was
experienced throughout the ship. Although the previous
night had been a very restless one, it had not the effect of
inducing repose in the writer’s berth on the succeeding
night; for having been so much tossed about in bed during the
last thirty hours, he found no easy spot to turn to, and his body
was all sore to the touch, which ill accorded with the unyielding
materials with which his bed-place was surrounded.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 7th Sept.]</p>
<p>This morning, about eight o’clock, the writer was
agreeably surprised to see the scuttle of his cabin sky-light
removed, and the bright rays of the sun admitted. Although
the ship continued to roll excessively, and the sea was still
running very high, yet the ordinary business on board seemed to
be going forward on deck. It was impossible to steady a
telescope, so as to look minutely at the progress of the waves
and trace their breach upon the Bell Rock; but the height to
which the cross-running waves rose in sprays when they met each
other was truly grand, and the continued roar and noise of the
sea was very perceptible to the ear. To estimate the height
of the sprays at forty or fifty feet would surely be within the
mark. Those of the workmen who were not much afflicted with
sea-sickness, came upon deck, and the wetness below being dried
up, the cabins were again brought into a habitable state.
Every one seemed to meet as if after a long absence,
congratulating his neighbour upon the return of good
weather. Little could be said as to the comfort of the
vessel, but after riding out such a gale, no one felt the least
doubt or hesitation as to the safety and good condition of her
moorings. The master and mate were extremely anxious,
however, to heave in the hempen cable, and see the state of the
clinch or iron ring of the chain-cable. But the vessel
rolled at such a rate that the seamen could not possibly keep
their feet at the windlass nor work the hand-spikes, though it
had been several times attempted since the gale took off.</p>
<p>About twelve noon, however, the vessel’s motion was
observed to be considerably less, and the sailors were enabled to
walk upon deck with some degree of freedom. But, to the
astonishment of every one, it was soon discovered that the
floating light was adrift! The windlass was instantly
manned, and the men soon gave out that there was no strain upon
the cable. The mizzen sail, which was bent for the
occasional purpose of making the vessel ride more easily to the
tide, was immediately set, and the other sails were also hoisted
in a short time, when, in no small consternation, we bore away
about one mile to the south-westward of the former station, and
there let go the best bower anchor and cable in twenty fathoms
water, to ride until the swell of the sea should fall, when it
might be practicable to grapple for the moorings, and find a
better anchorage for the ship.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 15th Sept.]</p>
<p>This morning, at five a.m., the bell rung as a signal for
landing upon the rock, a sound which, after a lapse of ten days,
it is believed was welcomed by every one on board. There
being a heavy breach of sea at the eastern creek, we landed,
though not without difficulty, on the western side, every one
seeming more eager than another to get upon the rock; and never
did hungry men sit down to a hearty meal with more appetite than
the artificers began to pick the dulse from the rocks. This
marine plant had the effect of reviving the sickly, and seemed to
be no less relished by those who were more hardy.</p>
<p>While the water was ebbing, and the men were roaming in quest
of their favourite morsel, the writer was examining the effects
of the storm upon the forge and loose apparatus left upon the
rock. Six large blocks of granite which had been landed, by
way of experiment, on the 1st instant, were now removed from
their places and, by the force of the sea, thrown over a rising
ledge into a hole at the distance of twelve or fifteen paces from
the place on which they had been landed. This was a pretty
good evidence both of the violence of the storm and the agitation
of the sea upon the rock. The safety of the smith’s
forge was always an object of essential regard. The ash-pan
of the hearth or fireplace, with its weighty cast-iron back, had
been washed from their places of supposed security; the chains of
attachment had been broken, and these ponderous articles were
found at a very considerable distance in a hole on the western
side of the rock; while the tools and picks of the Aberdeen
masons were scattered about in every direction. It is,
however, remarkable that not a single article was ultimately
lost.</p>
<p>This being the night on which the floating light was
advertised to be lighted, it was accordingly exhibited, to the
great joy of every one.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 16th Sept.]</p>
<p>The writer was made happy to-day by the return of the
Lighthouse yacht from a voyage to the Northern Lighthouses.
Having immediately removed on board of this fine vessel of
eighty-one tons register, the artificers gladly followed; for,
though they found themselves more pinched for accommodation on
board of the yacht, and still more so in the <i>Smeaton</i>, yet
they greatly preferred either of these to the <i>Pharos</i>, or
floating light, on account of her rolling motion, though in all
respects fitted up for their conveniency.</p>
<p>The writer called them to the quarter-deck and informed them
that, having been one mouth afloat, in terms of their agreement
they were now at liberty to return to the workyard at Arbroath if
they preferred this to continuing at the Bell Rock. But
they replied that, in the prospect of soon getting the beacon
erected upon the rock, and having made a change from the floating
light, they were now perfectly reconciled to their situation, and
would remain afloat till the end of the working season.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 17th Sept.]</p>
<p>The wind was at N.E. this morning, and though they were only
light airs, yet there was a pretty heavy swell coming ashore upon
the rock. The boats landed at half-past seven o’clock
a.m., at the creek on the southern side of the rock, marked Port
Hamilton. But as one of the boats was in the act of
entering this creek, the seaman at the bow-oar, who had just
entered the service, having inadvertently expressed some fear
from a heavy sea which came rolling towards the boat, and one of
the artificers having at the same time looked round and missed a
stroke with his oar, such a preponderance was thus given to the
rowers upon the opposite side that when the wave struck the boat
it threw her upon a ledge of shelving rocks, where the water left
her, and she having <i>kanted</i> to seaward, the next wave
completely filled her with water. After making considerable
efforts the boat was again got afloat in the proper track of the
creek, so that we landed without any other accident than a
complete ducking. There being no possibility of getting a
shift of clothes, the artificers began with all speed to work, so
as to bring themselves into heat, while the writer and his
assistants kept as much as possible in motion. Having
remained more than an hour upon the rock, the boats left it at
half-past nine; and, after getting on board, the writer
recommended to the artificers, as the best mode of getting into a
state of comfort, to strip off their wet clothes and go to bed
for an hour or two. No further inconveniency was felt, and
no one seemed to complain of the affection called ‘catching
cold.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 18th Sept.]</p>
<p>An important occurrence connected with the operations of this
season was the arrival of the <i>Smeaton</i> at four p.m., having
in tow the six principal beams of the beacon-house, together with
all the stanchions and other work on board for fixing it on the
rock. The mooring of the floating light was a great point
gained, but in the erection of the beacon at this late period of
the season new difficulties presented themselves. The
success of such an undertaking at any season was precarious,
because a single day of bad weather occurring before the
necessary fixtures could be made might sweep the whole apparatus
from the rock. Notwithstanding these difficulties, the
writer had determined to make the trial, although he could almost
have wished, upon looking at the state of the clouds and the
direction of the wind, that the apparatus for the beacon had been
still in the workyard.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 19th Sept.]</p>
<p>The main beams of the beacon were made up in two separate
rafts, fixed with bars and bolts of iron. One of these
rafts, not being immediately wanted, was left astern of the
floating light, and the other was kept in tow by the
<i>Smeaton</i>, at the buoy nearest to the rock. The
Lighthouse yacht rode at another buoy with all hands on board
that could possibly be spared out of the floating light.
The party of artificers and seamen which landed on the rock
counted altogether forty in number. At half-past eight
o’clock a derrick, or mast of thirty feet in height, was
erected and properly supported with guy-ropes, for suspending the
block for raising the first principal beam of the beacon; and a
winch machine was also bolted down to the rock for working the
purchase-tackle.</p>
<p>Upon raising the derrick, all hands on the rock spontaneously
gave three hearty cheers, as a favourable omen of our future
exertions in pointing out more permanently the position of the
rock. Even to this single spar of timber, could it be
preserved, a drowning man might lay hold. When the
<i>Smeaton</i> drifted on the 2nd of this month such a spar would
have been sufficient to save us till she could have come to our
relief.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 20th Sept.]</p>
<p>The wind this morning was variable, but the weather continued
extremely favourable for the operations throughout the whole
day. At six a.m. the boats were in motion, and the raft,
consisting of four of the six principal beams of the
beacon-house, each measuring about sixteen inches square, and
fifty feet in length, was towed to the rock, where it was
anchored, that it might ground upon it as the water ebbed.
The sailors and artificers, including all hands, to-day counted
no fewer than fifty-two, being perhaps the greatest number of
persons ever collected upon the Bell Rock. It was early in
the tide when the boats reached the rock, and the men worked a
considerable time up to their middle in water, every one being
more eager than his neighbour to be useful. Even the four
artificers who had hitherto declined working on Sunday were
to-day most zealous in their exertions. They had indeed
become so convinced of the precarious nature and necessity of the
work that they never afterwards absented themselves from the rock
on Sunday when a landing was practicable.</p>
<p>Having made fast a piece of very good new line, at about
two-thirds from the lower end of one of the beams, the
purchase-tackle of the derrick was hooked into the turns of the
line, and it was speedily raised by the number of men on the rock
and the power of the winch tackle. When this log was lifted
to a sufficient height, its foot, or lower end, was
<i>stepped</i> into the spot which had been previously prepared
for it. Two of the great iron stanchions were then set in
their respective holes on each side of the beam, when a rope was
passed round them and the beam, to prevent it from slipping till
it could be more permanently fixed. The derrick, or upright
spar used for carrying the tackle to raise the first beam, was
placed in such a position as to become useful for supporting the
upper end of it, which now became, in its turn, the prop of the
tackle for raising the second beam. The whole difficulty of
this operation was in the raising and propping of the first beam,
which became a convenient derrick for raising the second, these
again a pair of shears for lifting the third, and the shears a
triangle for raising the fourth. Having thus got four of
the six principal beams set on end, it required a considerable
degree of trouble to get their upper ends to fit. Here they
formed the apex of a cone, and were all together mortised into a
large piece of beechwood, and secured, for the present, with
ropes, in a temporary manner. During the short period of
one tide all that could further be done for their security was to
put a single screw-bolt through the great kneed bats or
stanchions on each side of the beams, and screw the nut home.</p>
<p>In this manner these four principal beams were erected, and
left in a pretty secure state. The men had commenced while
there was about two or three feet of water upon the side of the
beacon, and as the sea was smooth they continued the work equally
long during flood-tide. Two of the boats being left at the
rock to take off the joiners, who were busily employed on the
upper parts till two o’clock p.m., this tide’s work
may be said to have continued for about seven hours, which was
the longest that had hitherto been got upon the rock by at least
three hours.</p>
<p>When the first boats left the rock with the artificers
employed on the lower part of the work during the flood-tide, the
beacon had quite a novel appearance. The beams erected
formed a common base of about thirty-three feet, meeting at the
top, which was about forty-five feet above the rock, and here
half a dozen of the artificers were still at work. After
clearing the rock the boats made a stop, when three hearty cheers
were given, which were returned with equal goodwill by those upon
the beacon, from the personal interest which every one felt in
the prosperity of this work, so intimately connected with his
safety.</p>
<p>All hands having returned to their respective ships, they got
a shift of dry clothes and some refreshment. Being Sunday,
they were afterwards convened by signal on board of the
Lighthouse yacht, when prayers were read; for every heart upon
this occasion felt gladness, and every mind was disposed to be
thankful for the happy and successful termination of the
operations of this day.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 21st Sept.]</p>
<p>The remaining two principal beams were erected in the course
of this tide, which, with the assistance of those set up
yesterday, was found to be a very simple operation.</p>
<p>The six principal beams of the beacon were thus secured, at
least in a temporary manner, in the course of two tides, or in
the short space of about eleven hours and a half. Such is
the progress that may be made when active hands and willing minds
set properly to work in operations of this kind.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday 22nd, Sept.]</p>
<p>Having now got the weighty part of this work over, and being
thereby relieved of the difficulty both of landing and
victualling such a number of men, the <i>Smeaton</i> could now be
spared, and she was accordingly despatched to Arbroath for a
supply of water and provisions, and carried with her six of the
artificers who could best be spared.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 23rd Sept.]</p>
<p>In going out of the eastern harbour, the boat which the writer
steered shipped a sea, that filled her about one-third with
water. She had also been hid for a short time, by the waves
breaking upon the rock, from the sight of the crew of the
preceding boat, who were much alarmed for our safety, imagining
for a time that she had gone down.</p>
<p>The <i>Smeaton</i> returned from Arbroath this afternoon, but
there was so much sea that she could not be made fast to her
moorings, and the vessel was obliged to return to Arbroath
without being able either to deliver the provisions or take the
artificers on board. The Lighthouse yacht was also soon
obliged to follow her example, as the sea was breaking heavily
over her bows. After getting two reefs in the mainsail, and
the third or storm-jib set, the wind being S.W., she bent to
windward, though blowing a hard gale, and got into St. Andrews
Bay, where we passed the night under the lee of Fifeness.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 24th Sept.]</p>
<p>At two o’clock this morning we were in St. Andrews Bay,
standing off and on shore, with strong gales of wind at S.W.; at
seven we were off the entrance of the Tay; at eight stood towards
the rock, and at ten passed to leeward of it, but could not
attempt a landing. The beacon, however, appeared to remain
in good order, and by six p.m. the vessel had again beaten up to
St. Andrews Bay, and got into somewhat smoother water for the
night.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 25th Sept.]</p>
<p>At seven o’clock bore away for the Bell Rock, but
finding a heavy sea running on it were unable to land. The
writer, however, had the satisfaction to observe, with his
telescope, that everything about the beacon appeared entire: and
although the sea had a most frightful appearance, yet it was the
opinion of every one that, since the erection of the beacon, the
Bell Rock was divested of many of its terrors, and had it been
possible to have got the boats hoisted out and manned, it might
have even been found practicable to land. At six it blew so
hard that it was found necessary to strike the topmast and take
in a third reef of the mainsail, and under this low canvas we
soon reached St. Andrews Bay, and got again under the lee of the
land for the night. The artificers, being sea-hardy, were
quite reconciled to their quarters on board of the Lighthouse
yacht; but it is believed that hardly any consideration would
have induced them again to take up their abode in the floating
light.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 26th Sept.]</p>
<p>At daylight the yacht steered towards the Bell Rock, and at
eight a.m. made fast to her moorings; at ten, all hands, to the
amount of thirty, landed, when the writer had the happiness to
find that the beacon had withstood the violence of the gale and
the heavy breach of sea, everything being found in the same state
in which it had been left on the 21st. The artificers were
now enabled to work upon the rock throughout the whole day, both
at low and high water, but it required the strictest attention to
the state of the weather, in case of their being overtaken with a
gale, which might prevent the possibility of getting them off the
rock.</p>
<p>Two somewhat memorable circumstances in the annals of the Bell
Rock attended the operations of this day: one was the removal of
Mr. James Dove, the foreman smith, with his apparatus, from the
rock to the upper part of the beacon, where the forge was now
erected on a temporary platform, laid on the cross beams or upper
framing. The other was the artificers having dined for the
first time upon the rock, their dinner being cooked on board of
the yacht, and sent to them by one of the boats. But what
afforded the greatest happiness and relief was the removal of the
large bellows, which had all along been a source of much trouble
and perplexity, by their hampering and incommoding the boat which
carried the smiths and their apparatus.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 3rd Oct.]</p>
<p>The wind being west to-day, the weather was very favourable
for operations at the rock, and during the morning and evening
tides, with the aid of torchlight, the masons had seven
hours’ work upon the site of the building. The smiths
and joiners, who landed at half-past six a.m., did not leave the
rock till a quarter-past eleven p.m., having been at work, with
little intermission, for sixteen hours and three-quarters.
When the water left the rock, they were employed at the lower
parts of the beacon, and as the tide rose or fell, they shifted
the place of their operations. From these exertions, the
fixing and securing of the beacon made rapid advancement, as the
men were now landed in the morning and remained throughout the
day. But, as a sudden change of weather might have
prevented their being taken off at the proper time of tide, a
quantity of bread and water was always kept on the beacon.</p>
<p>During this period of working at the beacon all the day, and
often a great part of the night, the writer was much on board of
the tender; but, while the masons could work on the rock, and
frequently also while it was covered by the tide, he remained on
the beacon; especially during the night, as he made a point of
being on the rock to the latest hour, and was generally the last
person who stepped into the boat. He had laid this down as
part of his plan of procedure; and in this way had acquired, in
the course of the first season, a pretty complete knowledge and
experience of what could actually be done at the Bell Rock, under
all circumstances of the weather. By this means also his
assistants, and the artificers and mariners, got into a
systematic habit of proceeding at the commencement of the work,
which, it is believed, continued throughout the whole of the
operations.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 4th Oct.]</p>
<p>The external part of the beacon was now finished, with its
supports and bracing-chains, and whatever else was considered
necessary for its stability in so far as the season would permit;
and although much was still wanting to complete this fabric, yet
it was in such a state that it could be left without much fear of
the consequences of a storm. The painting of the upper part
was nearly finished this afternoon; and the <i>Smeaton</i> had
brought off a quantity of brushwood and other articles, for the
purpose of heating or charring the lower part of the principal
beams, before being laid over with successive coats of boiling
pitch, to the height of from eight to twelve feet, or as high as
the rise of spring-tides. A small flagstaff having also
been erected to-day, a flag was displayed for the first time from
the beacon, by which its perspective effect was greatly
improved. On this, as on all like occasions at the Bell
Rock, three hearty cheers were given; and the steward served out
a dram of rum to all hands, while the Lighthouse yacht,
<i>Smeaton</i>, and floating light, hoisted their colours in
compliment to the erection.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 5th Oct.]</p>
<p>In the afternoon, and just as the tide’s work was over,
Mr. John Rennie, engineer, accompanied by his son Mr. George, on
their way to the harbour works of Fraserburgh, in Aberdeenshire,
paid a visit to the Bell Rock, in a boat from Arbroath. It
being then too late in the tide for landing, they remained on
board of the Lighthouse yacht all night, when the writer, who had
now been secluded from society for several weeks, enjoyed much of
Mr. Rennie’s interesting conversation, both on general
topics, and professionally upon the progress of the Bell Rock
works, on which he was consulted as chief engineer.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 6th Oct.]</p>
<p>The artificers landed this morning at nine, after which one of
the boats returned to the ship for the writer and Messrs. Rennie,
who, upon landing, were saluted with a display of the colours
from the beacon and by three cheers from the workmen.
Everything was now in a prepared state for leaving the rock, and
giving up the works afloat for this season, excepting some small
articles, which would still occupy the smiths and joiners for a
few days longer. They accordingly shifted on board of the
<i>Smeaton</i>, while the yacht left the rock for Arbroath, with
Messrs. Rennie, the writer, and the remainder of the
artificers. But, before taking leave, the steward served
out a farewell glass, when three hearty cheers were given, and an
earnest wish expressed that everything, in the spring of 1808,
might be found in the same state of good order as it was now
about to be left.</p>
<h3>II—OPERATIONS OF 1808</h3>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 29th Feb.]</p>
<p>The writer sailed from Arbroath at one a.m. in the Lighthouse
yacht. At seven the floating light was hailed, and all on
board found to be well. The crew were observed to have a
very healthy-like appearance, and looked better than at the close
of the works upon the rock. They seemed only to regret one
thing, which was the secession of their cook, Thomas
Elliot—not on account of his professional skill, but for
his facetious and curious manner. Elliot had something
peculiar in his history, and was reported by his comrades to have
seen better days. He was, however, happy with his situation
on board of the floating light, and, having a taste for music,
dancing, and acting plays, he contributed much to the amusement
of the ship’s company in their dreary abode during the
winter months. He had also recommended himself to their
notice as a good shipkeeper, for as it did not answer Elliot to
go often ashore, he had always given up his turn of leave to his
neighbours. At his own desire he was at length paid off,
when he had a considerable balance of wages to receive, which he
said would be sufficient to carry him to the West Indies, and he
accordingly took leave of the Lighthouse service.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 1st March]</p>
<p>At daybreak the Lighthouse yacht, attended by a boat from the
floating light, again stood towards the Bell Rock. The
weather felt extremely cold this morning, the thermometer being
at 34 degrees, with the wind at east, accompanied by occasional
showers of snow, and the marine barometer indicated 29.80.
At half-past seven the sea ran with such force upon the rock that
it seemed doubtful if a landing could be effected. At
half-past eight, when it was fairly above water, the writer took
his place in the floating light’s boat with the artificers,
while the yacht’s boat followed, according to the general
rule of having two boats afloat in landing expeditions of this
kind, that, in case of accident to one boat, the other might
assist. In several unsuccessful attempts the boats were
beat back by the breach of the sea upon the rock. On the
eastern side it separated into two distinct waves, which came
with a sweep round to the western side, where they met; and at
the instance of their confluence the water rose in spray to a
considerable height. Watching what the sailors term a
<i>smooth</i>, we caught a favourable opportunity, and in a very
dexterous manner the boats were rowed between the two seas, and
made a favourable landing at the western creek.</p>
<p>At the latter end of last season, as was formerly noticed, the
beacon was painted white, and from the bleaching of the weather
and the sprays of the sea the upper parts were kept clean; but
within the range of the tide the principal beams were observed to
be thickly coated with a green stuff, the <i>conferva</i> of
botanists. Notwithstanding the intrusion of these works,
which had formerly banished the numerous seals that played about
the rock, they were now seen in great numbers, having been in an
almost undisturbed state for six months. It had now also,
for the first time, got some inhabitants of the feathered tribe:
in particular the scarth or cormorant, and the large
herring-gull, had made the beacon a resting-place, from its
vicinity to their fishing-grounds. About a dozen of these
birds had rested upon the cross-beams, which, in some places,
were coated with their dung; and their flight, as the boats
approached, was a very unlooked-for indication of life and
habitation on the Bell Rock, conveying the momentary idea of the
conversion of this fatal rock, from being a terror to the
mariner, into a residence of man and a safeguard to shipping.</p>
<p>Upon narrowly examining the great iron stanchions with which
the beams were fixed to the rock, the writer had the satisfaction
of finding that there was not the least appearance of working or
shifting at any of the joints or places of connection; and,
excepting the loosening of the bracing-chains, everything was
found in the same entire state in which it had been left in the
month of October. This, in the estimation of the writer,
was a matter of no small importance to the future success of the
work. He from that moment saw the practicability and
propriety of fitting up the beacon, not only as a place of refuge
in case of accident to the boats in landing, but as a residence
for the artificers during the working months.</p>
<p>While upon the top of the beacon the writer was reminded by
the landing-master that the sea was running high, and that it
would be necessary to set off while the rock afforded anything
like shelter to the boats, which by this time had been made fast
by a long line to the beacon, and rode with much agitation, each
requiring two men with boat-hooks to keep them from striking each
other, or from ranging up against the beacon. But even
under these circumstances the greatest confidence was felt by
every one, from the security afforded by this temporary
erection. For, supposing the wind had suddenly increased to
a gale, and that it had been found unadvisable to go into the
boats; or, supposing they had drifted or sprung a leak from
striking upon the rocks; in any of these possible and not at all
improbable cases, those who might thus have been left upon the
rock had now something to lay hold of, and, though occupying this
dreary habitation of the sea-gull and the cormorant, affording
only bread and water, yet <i>life</i>, would be preserved, and
the mind would still be supported by the hope of being ultimately
relieved.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 25th May]</p>
<p>On the 25th of May the writer embarked at Arbroath, on board
of the <i>Sir Joseph Banks</i>, for the Bell Rock, accompanied by
Mr. Logan senior, foreman builder, with twelve masons and two
smiths, together with thirteen seamen, including the master,
mate, and steward.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 26th May]</p>
<p>Mr. James Wilson, now commander of the <i>Pharos</i>, floating
light, and landing-master, in the room of Mr. Sinclair, who had
left the service, came into the writer’s cabin this morning
at six o’clock, and intimated that there was a good
appearance of landing on the rock. Everything being
arranged, both boats proceeded in company, and at eight a.m. they
reached the rock. The lighthouse colours were immediately
hoisted upon the flagstaff of the beacon, a compliment which was
duly returned by the tender and floating light, when three hearty
cheers were given, and a glass of rum was served out to all hands
to drink success to the operations of 1808.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 27th May]</p>
<p>This morning the wind was at east, blowing a fresh gale, the
weather being hazy, with a considerable breach of sea setting in
upon the rock. The morning bell was therefore rung, in some
doubt as to the practicability of making a landing. After
allowing the rock to get fully up, or to be sufficiently left by
the tide, that the boats might have some shelter from the range
of the sea, they proceeded at 8 a.m., and upon the whole made a
pretty good landing; and after two hours and
three-quarters’ work returned to the ship in safety.</p>
<p>In the afternoon the wind considerably increased, and, as a
pretty heavy sea was still running, the tender rode very hard,
when Mr. Taylor, the commander, found it necessary to take in the
bowsprit, and strike the fore and main topmasts, that she might
ride more easily. After consulting about the state of the
weather, it was resolved to leave the artificers on board this
evening, and carry only the smiths to the rock, as the sharpening
of the irons was rather behind, from their being so much broken
and blunted by the hard and tough nature of the rock, which
became much more compact and hard as the depth of excavation was
increased. Besides avoiding the risk of encumbering the
boats with a number of men who had not yet got the full command
of the oar in a breach of sea, the writer had another motive for
leaving them behind. He wanted to examine the site of the
building without interruption, and to take the comparative levels
of the different inequalities of its area; and as it would have
been painful to have seen men standing idle upon the Bell Rock,
where all moved with activity, it was judged better to leave them
on board. The boats landed at half-past seven p.m., and the
landing-master, with the seamen, was employed during this tide in
cutting the seaweeds from the several paths leading to the
landing-places, to render walking more safe, for, from the
slippery state of the surface of the rock, many severe tumbles
had taken place. In the meantime the writer took the
necessary levels, and having carefully examined the site of the
building and considered all its parts, it still appeared to be
necessary to excavate to the average depth of fourteen inches
over the whole area of the foundation.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 28th May]</p>
<p>The wind still continued from the eastward with a heavy swell;
and to-day it was accompanied with foggy weather and occasional
showers of rain. Notwithstanding this, such was the
confidence which the erection of the beacon had inspired that the
boats landed the artificers on the rock under very unpromising
circumstances, at half-past eight, and they continued at work
till half-past eleven, being a period of three hours, which was
considered a great tide’s work in the present low state of
the foundation. Three of the masons on board were so
afflicted with sea-sickness that they had not been able to take
any food for almost three days, and they were literally assisted
into the boats this morning by their companions. It was,
however, not a little surprising to see how speedily these men
revived upon landing on the rock and eating a little dulse.
Two of them afterwards assisted the sailors in collecting the
chips of stone and carrying them out of the way of the pickmen;
but the third complained of a pain in his head, and was still
unable to do anything. Instead of returning to the tender
with the boats, these three men remained on the beacon all day,
and had their victuals sent to them along with the
smiths’. From Mr. Dove, the foreman smith, they had
much sympathy, for he preferred remaining on the beacon at all
hazards, to be himself relieved from the malady of
sea-sickness. The wind continuing high, with a heavy sea,
and the tide falling late, it was not judged proper to land the
artificers this evening, but in the twilight the boats were sent
to fetch the people on board who had been left on the rock.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 29th May]</p>
<p>The wind was from the S.W. to-day, and the signal-bell rung,
as usual, about an hour before the period for landing on the
rock. The writer was rather surprised, however, to hear the
landing-master repeatedly call, ‘All hands for the
rock!’ and, coming on deck, he was disappointed to find the
seamen only in the boats. Upon inquiry, it appeared that
some misunderstanding had taken place about the wages of the
artificers for Sundays. They had preferred wages for seven
days statedly to the former mode of allowing a day for each
tide’s work on Sunday, as they did not like the appearance
of working for double or even treble wages on Sunday, and would
rather have it understood that their work on that day arose more
from the urgency of the case than with a view to emolument.
This having been judged creditable to their religious feelings,
and readily adjusted to their wish, the boats proceeded to the
rock, and the work commenced at nine a.m.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 30th May]</p>
<p>Mr. Francis Watt commenced, with five joiners, to fit up a
temporary platform upon the beacon, about twenty-five feet above
the highest part of the rock. This platform was to be used
as the site of the smith’s forge, after the beacon should
be fitted up as a barrack; and here also the mortar was to be
mixed and prepared for the building, and it was accordingly
termed the Mortar Gallery.</p>
<p>The landing-master’s crew completed the discharging from
the <i>Smeaton</i> of her cargo of the cast-iron rails and
timber. It must not here be omitted to notice that the
<i>Smeaton</i> took in ballast from the Bell Rock, consisting of
the shivers or chips of stone produced by the workmen in
preparing the site of the building, which were now accumulating
in great quantities on the rock. These the boats loaded,
after discharging the iron. The object in carrying off
these chips, besides ballasting the vessel, was to get them
permanently out of the way, as they were apt to shift about from
place to place with every gale of wind; and it often required a
considerable time to clear the foundation a second time of this
rubbish. The circumstance of ballasting a ship at the Bell
Rock afforded great entertainment, especially to the sailors; and
it was perhaps with truth remarked that the <i>Smeaton</i> was
the first vessel that had ever taken on board ballast at the Bell
Rock. Mr. Pool, the commander of this vessel, afterwards
acquainted the writer that, when the ballast was landed upon the
quay at Leith, many persons carried away specimens of it, as part
of a cargo from the Bell Rock; when he added, that such was the
interest excited, from the number of specimens carried away, that
some of his friends suggested that he should have sent the whole
to the Cross of Edinburgh, where each piece might have sold for a
penny.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 31st May]</p>
<p>In the evening the boats went to the rock, and brought the
joiners and smiths, and their sickly companions, on board of the
tender. These also brought with them two baskets full of
fish, which they had caught at high-water from the beacon,
reporting, at the same time, to their comrades, that the fish
were swimming in such numbers over the rock at high-water that it
was completely hid from their sight, and nothing seen but the
movement of thousands of fish. They were almost exclusively
of the species called the podlie, or young coal-fish. This
discovery, made for the first time to-day by the workmen, was
considered fortunate, as an additional circumstance likely to
produce an inclination among the artificers to take up their
residence in the beacon, when it came to be fitted up as a
barrack.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 7th June]</p>
<p>At three o’clock in the morning the ship’s bell
was rung as the signal for landing at the rock. When the
landing was to be made before breakfast, it was customary to give
each of the artificers and seamen a dram and a biscuit, and
coffee was prepared by the steward for the cabins. Exactly
at four o’clock the whole party landed from three boats,
including one of those belonging to the floating light, with a
part of that ship’s crew, which always attended the works
in moderate weather. The landing-master’s boat,
called the <i>Seaman</i>, but more commonly called the
<i>Lifeboat</i>, took the lead. The next boat, called the
<i>Mason</i>, was generally steered by the writer; while the
floating light’s boat, <i>Pharos</i>, was under the
management of the boatswain of that ship.</p>
<p>Having now so considerable a party of workmen and sailors on
the rock, it may be proper here to notice how their labours were
directed. Preparations having been made last month for the
erection of a second forge upon the beacon, the smiths commenced
their operations both upon the lower and higher platforms.
They were employed in sharpening the picks and irons for the
masons, and in making bats and other apparatus of various
descriptions connected with the fitting of the railways.
The landing-master’s crew were occupied in assisting the
millwrights in laying the railways to hand. Sailors, of all
other descriptions of men, are the most accommodating in the use
of their hands. They worked freely with the boring-irons,
and assisted in all the operations of the railways, acting by
turns as boatmen, seamen, and artificers. We had no such
character on the Bell Rock as the common labourer. All the
operations of this department were cheerfully undertaken by the
seamen, who, both on the rock and on shipboard, were the
inseparable companions of every work connected with the erection
of the Bell Rock Lighthouse. It will naturally be supposed
that about twenty-five masons, occupied with their picks in
executing and preparing the foundation of the lighthouse, in the
course of a tide of about three hours, would make a considerable
impression upon an area even of forty-two feet in diameter.
But in proportion as the foundation was deepened, the rock was
found to be much more hard and difficult to work, while the
baling and pumping of water became much more troublesome. A
joiner was kept almost constantly employed in fitting the picks
to their handles, which, as well as the points to the irons, were
very frequently broken.</p>
<p>The Bell Rock this morning presented by far the most busy and
active appearance it had exhibited since the erection of the
principal beams of the beacon. The surface of the rock was
crowded with men, the two forges flaming, the one above the
other, upon the beacon, while the anvils thundered with the
rebounding noise of their wooden supports, and formed a curious
contrast with the occasional clamour of the surges. The
wind was westerly, and the weather being extremely agreeable, as
soon after breakfast as the tide had sufficiently overflowed the
rock to float the boats over it, the smiths, with a number of the
artificers, returned to the beacon, carrying their fishing-tackle
along with them. In the course of the forenoon, the beacon
exhibited a still more extraordinary appearance than the rock had
done in the morning. The sea being smooth, it seemed to be
afloat upon the water, with a number of men supporting themselves
in all the variety of attitude and position: while, from the
upper part of this wooden house, the volumes of smoke which
ascended from the forges gave the whole a very curious and
fanciful appearance.</p>
<p>In the course of this tide it was observed that a heavy swell
was setting in from the eastward, and the appearance of the sky
indicated a change of weather, while the wind was shifting
about. The barometer also had fallen from 30 in. to
29.6. It was, therefore, judged prudent to shift the vessel
to the S.W. or more distant buoy. Her bowsprit was also
soon afterwards taken in, the topmasts struck, and everything
made <i>snug</i>, as seamen term it, for a gale. During the
course of the night the wind increased and shifted to the
eastward, when the vessel rolled very hard, and the sea often
broke over her bows with great force.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 8th June]</p>
<p>Although the motion of the tender was much less than that of
the floating light—at least, in regard to the rolling
motion—yet she <i>sended</i>, or pitched, much. Being
also of a very handsome build, and what seamen term very <i>clean
aft</i>, the sea often struck the counter with such force that
the writer, who possessed the aftermost cabin, being unaccustomed
to this new vessel, could not divest himself of uneasiness; for
when her stern fell into the sea, it struck with so much violence
as to be more like the resistance of a rock than the sea.
The water, at the same time, often rushed with great force up the
rudder-case, and, forcing up the valve of the water-closet, the
floor of his cabin was at times laid under water. The gale
continued to increase, and the vessel rolled and pitched in such
a manner that the hawser by which the tender was made fast to the
buoy snapped, and she went adrift. In the act of swinging
round to the wind she shipped a very heavy sea, which greatly
alarmed the artificers, who imagined that we had got upon the
rock; but this, from the direction of the wind, was
impossible. The writer, however, sprung upon deck, where he
found the sailors busily employed in rigging out the bowsprit and
in setting sail. From the easterly direction of the wind,
it was considered most advisable to steer for the Firth of Forth,
and there wait a change of weather. At two p.m. we
accordingly passed the Isle of May, at six anchored in Leith
Roads, and at eight the writer landed, when he came in upon his
friends, who were not a little surprised at his unexpected
appearance, which gave an instantaneous alarm for the safety of
things at the Bell Rock.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 9th June]</p>
<p>The wind still continued to blow very hard at E. by N., and
the <i>Sir Joseph Banks</i> rode heavily, and even drifted with
both anchors ahead, in Leith Roads. The artificers did not
attempt to leave the ship last night; but there being upwards of
fifty people on board, and the decks greatly lumbered with the
two large boats, they were in a very crowded and impatient state
on board. But to-day they got ashore, and amused themselves
by walking about the streets of Edinburgh, some in very humble
apparel, from having only the worst of their jackets with them,
which, though quite suitable for their work, were hardly fit for
public inspection, being not only tattered, but greatly stained
with the red colour of the rock.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 10th June]</p>
<p>To-day the wind was at S.E., with light breezes and foggy
weather. At six a.m. the writer again embarked for the Bell
Rock, when the vessel immediately sailed. At eleven p.m.,
there being no wind, the kedge-anchor was <i>let go</i> off
Anstruther, one of the numerous towns on the coast of Fife, where
we waited the return of the tide.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 11th June]</p>
<p>At six a.m. the <i>Sir Joseph</i> got under weigh, and at
eleven was again made fast to the southern buoy at the Bell
Rock. Though it was now late in the tide, the writer, being
anxious to ascertain the state of things after the gale, landed
with the artificers to the number of forty-four. Everything
was found in an entire state; but, as the tide was nearly gone,
only half an hour’s work had been got when the site of the
building was overflowed. In the evening the boats again
landed at nine, and after a good tide’s work of three hours
with torchlight, the work was left off at midnight. To the
distant shipping the appearance of things under night on the Bell
Rock, when the work was going forward, must have been very
remarkable, especially to those who were strangers to the
operations. Mr. John Reid, principal lightkeeper, who also
acted as master of the floating light during the working months
at the rock, described the appearance of numerous lights situated
so low in the water, when seen at the distance of two or three
miles, as putting him in mind of Milton’s description of
the fiends in the lower regions, adding, ‘for it seems
greatly to surpass Will-o’-the-Wisp, or any of those
earthly spectres of which we have so often heard.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 13th June]</p>
<p>From the difficulties attending the landing on the rock, owing
to the breach of sea which had for days past been around it, the
artificers showed some backwardness at getting into the boats
this morning; but after a little explanation this was got
over. It was always observable that for some time after
anything like danger had occurred at the rock, the workmen became
much more cautious, and on some occasions their timidity was
rather troublesome. It fortunately happened, however, that
along with the writer’s assistants and the sailors there
were also some of the artificers themselves who felt no such
scruples, and in this way these difficulties were the more easily
surmounted. In matters where life is in danger it becomes
necessary to treat even unfounded prejudices with tenderness, as
an accident, under certain circumstances, would not only have
been particularly painful to those giving directions, but have
proved highly detrimental to the work, especially in the early
stages of its advancement.</p>
<p>At four o’clock fifty-eight persons landed; but the
tides being extremely languid, the water only left the higher
parts of the rock, and no work could be done at the site of the
building. A third forge was, however, put in operation
during a short time, for the greater conveniency of sharpening
the picks and irons, and for purposes connected with the
preparations for fixing the railways on the rock. The
weather towards the evening became thick and foggy, and there was
hardly a breath of wind to ruffle the surface of the water.
Had it not, therefore, been for the noise from the anvils of the
smiths who had been left on the beacon throughout the day, which
afforded a guide for the boats, a landing could not have been
attempted this evening, especially with such a company of
artificers. This circumstance confirmed the writer’s
opinion with regard to the propriety of connecting large bells to
be rung with machinery in the lighthouse, to be tolled day and
night during the continuance of foggy weather.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 23rd June]</p>
<p>The boats landed this evening, when the artificers had again
two hours’ work. The weather still continuing very
thick and foggy, more difficulty was experienced in getting on
board of the vessels to-night than had occurred on any previous
occasion, owing to a light breeze of wind which carried the sound
of the bell, and the other signals made on board of the vessels,
away from the rock. Having fortunately made out the
position of the sloop <i>Smeaton</i> at the N.E. buoy—to
which we were much assisted by the barking of the ship’s
dog,—we parted with the <i>Smeaton’s</i> boat, when
the boats of the tender took a fresh departure for that vessel,
which lay about half a mile to the south-westward. Yet such
is the very deceiving state of the tides, that, although there
was a small binnacle and compass in the landing-master’s
boat, we had, nevertheless, passed the <i>Sir Joseph</i> a good
way, when, fortunately, one of the sailors catched the sound of a
blowing-horn. The only fire-arms on board were a pair of
swivels of one-inch calibre; but it is quite surprising how much
the sound is lost in foggy weather, as the report was heard but
at a very short distance. The sound from the explosion of
gunpowder is so instantaneous that the effect of the small guns
was not so good as either the blowing of a horn or the tolling of
a bell, which afforded a more constant and steady direction for
the pilot.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 6th July]</p>
<p>Landed on the rock with the three boats belonging to the
tender at five p.m., and began immediately to bale the water out
of the foundation-pit with a number of buckets, while the pumps
were also kept in action with relays of artificers and
seamen. The work commenced upon the higher parts of the
foundation as the water left them, but it was now pretty
generally reduced to a level. About twenty men could be
conveniently employed at each pump, and it is quite astonishing
in how short a time so great a body of water could be drawn
off. The water in the foundation-pit at this time measured
about two feet in depth, on an area of forty-two feet in
diameter, and yet it was drawn off in the course of about half an
hour. After this the artificers commenced with their picks
and continued at work for two hours and a half, some of the
sailors being at the same time busily employed in clearing the
foundation of chips and in conveying the irons to and from the
smiths on the beacon, where they were sharped. At eight
o’clock the sea broke in upon us and overflowed the
foundation-pit, when the boats returned to the tender.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 7th July]</p>
<p>The landing-master’s bell rung this morning about four
o’clock, and at half-past five, the foundation being
cleared, the work commenced on the site of the building.
But from the moment of landing, the squad of joiners and
millwrights was at work upon the higher parts of the rock in
laying the railways, while the anvils of the smith resounded on
the beacon, and such columns of smoke ascended from the forges
that they were often mistaken by strangers at a distance for a
ship on fire. After continuing three hours at work the
foundation of the building was again overflowed, and the boats
returned to the ship at half-past eight o’clock. the masons
and pickmen had, at this period, a pretty long day on board of
the tender, but the smiths and joiners were kept constantly at
work upon the beacon, the stability and great conveniency of
which had now been so fully shown that no doubt remained as to
the propriety of fitting it up as a barrack. The workmen
were accordingly employed, during the period of high-water, in
making preparations for this purpose.</p>
<p>The foundation-pit now assumed the appearance of a great
platform, and the late tides had been so favourable that it
became apparent that the first course, consisting of a few
irregular and detached stones for making up certain inequalities
in the interior parts of the site of the building, might be laid
in the course of the present spring-tides. Having been
enabled to-day to get the dimensions of the foundation, or first
stone, accurately taken, a mould was made of its figure, when the
writer left the rock, after the tide’s work of this
morning, in a fast rowing-boat for Arbroath; and, upon landing,
two men were immediately set to work upon one of the blocks from
Mylnefield quarry, which was prepared in the course of the
following day, as the stone-cutters relieved each other, and
worked both night and day, so that it was sent off in one of the
stone-lighters without delay.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 9th July]</p>
<p>The site of the foundation-stone was very difficult to work,
from its depth in the rock; but being now nearly prepared, it
formed a very agreeable kind of pastime at high-water for all
hands to land the stone itself upon the rock. The
landing-master’s crew and artificers accordingly entered
with great spirit into this operation. The stone was placed
upon the deck of the <i>Hedderwick</i> praam-boat, which had just
been brought from Leith, and was decorated with colours for the
occasion. Flags were also displayed from the shipping in
the offing, and upon the beacon. Here the writer took his
station with the greater part of the artificers, who supported
themselves in every possible position while the boats towed the
praam from her moorings and brought her immediately over the site
of the building, where her grappling anchors were let go.
The stone was then lifted off the deck by a tackle hooked into a
Lewis bat inserted into it, when it was gently lowered into the
water and grounded on the site of the building, amidst the
cheering acclamations of about sixty persons.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 10th July]</p>
<p>At eleven o’clock the foundation-stone was laid to
hand. It was of a square form, containing about twenty
cubic feet, and had the figures, or date, of 1808 simply cut upon
it with a chisel. A derrick, or spar of timber, having been
erected at the edge of the hole and guyed with ropes, the stone
was then hooked to the tackle and lowered into its place, when
the writer, attended by his assistants—Mr. Peter Logan, Mr.
Francis Watt, and Mr. James Wilson,—applied the square, the
level, and the mallet, and pronounced the following benediction:
‘May the great Architect of the Universe complete and bless
this building,’ on which three hearty cheers were given,
and success to the future operations was drunk with the greatest
enthusiasm.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 26th July]</p>
<p>The wind being at S.E. this evening, we had a pretty heavy
swell of sea upon the rock, and some difficulty attended our
getting off in safety, as the boats got aground in the creek and
were in danger of being upset. Upon extinguishing the
torchlights, about twelve in number, the darkness of the night
seemed quite horrible; the water being also much charged with the
phosphorescent appearance which is familiar to every one on
shipboard, the waves, as they dashed upon the rock, were in some
degree like so much liquid flame. The scene, upon the
whole, was truly awful!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 27th July]</p>
<p>In leaving the rock this evening everything, after the torches
were extinguished, had the same dismal appearance as last night,
but so perfectly acquainted were the landing-master and his crew
with the position of things at the rock, that comparatively
little inconveniency was experienced on these occasions when the
weather was moderate; such is the effect of habit, even in the
most unpleasant situations. If, for example, it had been
proposed to a person accustomed to a city life, at once to take
up his quarters off a sunken reef and land upon it in boats at
all hours of the night, the proposition must have appeared quite
impracticable and extravagant; but this practice coming
progressively upon the artificers, it was ultimately undertaken
with the greatest alacrity. Notwithstanding this, however,
it must be acknowledged that it was not till after much labour
and peril, and many an anxious hour, that the writer is enabled
to state that the site of the Bell Rock Lighthouse is fully
prepared for the first entire course of the building.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 12th Aug.]</p>
<p>The artificers landed this morning at half-past ten, and after
an hour and a half’s work eight stones were laid, which
completed the first entire course of the building, consisting of
123 blocks, the last of which was laid with three hearty
cheers.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 10th Sept.]</p>
<p>Landed at nine a.m., and by a quarter-past twelve noon
twenty-three stones had been laid. The works being now
somewhat elevated by the lower courses, we got quit of the very
serious inconvenience of pumping water to clear the
foundation-pit. This gave much facility to the operations,
and was noticed with expressions of as much happiness by the
artificers as the seamen had shown when relieved of the continual
trouble of carrying the smith’s bellows off the rock prior
to the erection of the beacon.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 21st Sept.]</p>
<p>Mr. Thomas Macurich, mate of the <i>Smeaton</i>, and James
Scott, one of the crew, a young man about eighteen years of age,
immediately went into their boat to make fast a hawser to the
ring in the top of the floating buoy of the moorings, and were
forthwith to proceed to land their cargo, so much wanted, at the
rock. The tides at this period were very strong, and the
mooring-chain, when sweeping the ground, had caught hold of a
rock or piece of wreck by which the chain was so shortened that
when the tide flowed the buoy got almost under water, and little
more than the ring appeared at the surface. When Macurich
and Scott were in the act of making the hawser fast to the ring,
the chain got suddenly disentangled at the bottom, and this large
buoy, measuring about seven feet in height and three feet in
diameter at the middle, tapering to both ends, being what seamen
term a <i>Nun-buoy</i>, vaulted or sprung up with such force that
it upset the boat, which instantly filled with water. Mr.
Macurich, with much exertion, succeeded in getting hold of the
boat’s gunwale, still above the surface of the water, and
by this means was saved; but the young man Scott was
unfortunately drowned. He had in all probability been
struck about the head by the ring of the buoy, for although
surrounded with the oars and the thwarts of the boat which
floated near him, yet he seemed entirely to want the power of
availing himself of such assistance, and appeared to be quite
insensible, while Pool, the master of the <i>Smeaton</i>, called
loudly to him; and before assistance could be got from the
tender, he was carried away by the strength of the current and
disappeared.</p>
<p>The young man Scott was a great favourite in the service,
having had something uncommonly mild and complaisant in his
manner; and his loss was therefore universally regretted.
The circumstances of his case were also peculiarly distressing to
his mother, as her husband, who was a seaman, had for three years
past been confined to a French prison, and the deceased was the
chief support of the family. In order in some measure to
make up the loss to the poor woman for the monthly aliment
regularly allowed her by her late son, it was suggested that a
younger boy, a brother of the deceased, might be taken into the
service. This appeared to be rather a delicate proposition,
but it was left to the landing-master to arrange according to
circumstances; such was the resignation, and at the same time the
spirit, of the poor woman, that she readily accepted the
proposal, and in a few days the younger Scott was actually afloat
in the place of his brother. On representing this
distressing case to the Board, the Commissioners were pleased to
grant an annuity of £5 to Scott’s mother.</p>
<p>The <i>Smeaton</i>, not having been made fast to the buoy,
had, with the ebb-tide, drifted to leeward a considerable way
eastward of the rock, and could not, till the return of the
flood-tide, be worked up to her moorings, so that the present
tide was lost, notwithstanding all exertions which had been made
both ashore and afloat with this cargo. The artificers
landed at six a.m.; but, as no materials could be got upon the
rock this morning, they were employed in boring trenail holes and
in various other operations, and after four hours’ work
they returned on board the tender. When the <i>Smeaton</i>
got up to her moorings, the landing-master’s crew
immediately began to unload her. There being too much wind
for towing the praams in the usual way, they were warped to the
rock in the most laborious manner by their windlasses, with
successive grapplings and hawsers laid out for this
purpose. At six p.m. the artificers landed, and continued
at work till half-past ten, when the remaining seventeen stones
were laid which completed the third entire course, or fourth of
the lighthouse, with which the building operations were closed
for the season.</p>
<h3>III—OPERATIONS OF 1809</h3>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 24th May]</p>
<p>The last night was the first that the writer, had passed in
his old quarters on board of the floating light for about twelve
months, when the weather was so fine and the sea so smooth that
even here he felt but little or no motion, excepting at the turn
of the tide, when the vessel gets into what the seamen term the
<i>trough of the sea</i>. At six a.m. Mr. Watt, who
conducted the operations of the railways and beacon-house, had
landed with nine artificers. At half-past one p.m. Mr.
Peter Logan had also landed with fifteen masons, and immediately
proceeded to set up the crane. The sheer-crane or apparatus
for lifting the stones out of the praam-boats at the eastern
creek had been already erected, and the railways now formed about
two-thirds of an entire circle round the building: some progress
had likewise been made with the reach towards the western
landing-place. The floors being laid, the beacon now
assumed the appearance of a habitation. The <i>Smeaton</i>
was at her moorings, with the <i>Fernie</i> praam-boat astern,
for which she was laying down moorings, and the tender being also
at her station, the Bell Rock had again put on its former busy
aspect.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 31st May]</p>
<p>The landing-master’s bell, often no very favourite
sound, rung at six this morning; but on this occasion, it is
believed, it was gladly received by all on board, as the welcome
signal of the return of better weather. The masons laid
thirteen stones to-day, which the seamen had landed, together
with other building materials. During these twenty-four
hours the wind was from the south, blowing fresh breezes,
accompanied with showers of snow. In the morning the snow
showers were so thick that it was with difficulty the
landing-master, who always steered the leading boat, could make
his way to the rock through the drift. But at the Bell Rock
neither snow nor rain, nor fog nor wind, retarded the progress of
the work, if unaccompanied by a heavy swell or breach of the
sea.</p>
<p>The weather during the months of April and May had been
uncommonly boisterous, and so cold that the thermometer seldom
exceeded 40°, while the barometer was generally about
29.50. We had not only hail and sleet, but the snow on the
last day of May lay on the decks and rigging of the ship to the
depth of about three inches; and, although now entering upon the
month of June, the length of the day was the chief indication of
summer. Yet such is the effect of habit, and such was the
expertness of the landing-master’s crew, that, even in this
description of weather, seldom a tide’s work was
lost. Such was the ardour and zeal of the heads of the
several departments at the rock, including Mr. Peter Logan,
foreman builder, Mr. Francis Watt, foreman millwright, and
Captain Wilson, landing-master, that it was on no occasion
necessary to address them, excepting in the way of precaution or
restraint. Under these circumstances, however, the writer
not unfrequently felt considerable anxiety, of which this
day’s experience will afford an example.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 1st June]</p>
<p>This morning, at a quarter-past eight, the artificers were
landed as usual, and, after three hours and three-quarters’
work, five stones were laid, the greater part of this tide having
been taken up in completing the boring and trenailing of the
stones formerly laid. At noon the writer, with the seamen
and artificers, proceeded to the tender, leaving on the beacon
the joiners, and several of those who were troubled with
sea-sickness—among whom was Mr. Logan, who remained with
Mr. Watt—counting altogether eleven persons. During
the first and middle parts of these twenty-four hours the wind
was from the east, blowing what the seamen term ‘fresh
breezes’; but in the afternoon it shifted to E.N.E.,
accompanied with so heavy a swell of sea that the <i>Smeaton</i>
and tender struck their topmasts, launched in their bolt-sprits,
and ‘made all snug’ for a gale. At four p.m.
the <i>Smeaton</i> was obliged to slip her moorings, and passed
the tender, drifting before the wind, with only the foresail
set. In passing, Mr. Pool hailed that he must run for the
Firth of Forth to prevent the vessel from ‘riding
under.’</p>
<p>On board of the tender the writer’s chief concern was
about the eleven men left upon the beacon. Directions were
accordingly given that everything about the vessel should be put
in the best possible state, to present as little resistance to
the wind as possible, that she might have the better chance of
riding out the gale. Among these preparations the best
bower cable was bent, so as to have a second anchor in readiness
in case the mooring-hawser should give way, that every means
might be used for keeping the vessel within sight of the
prisoners on the beacon, and thereby keep them in as good spirits
as possible. From the same motive the boats were kept
afloat that they might be less in fear of the vessel leaving her
station. The landing-master had, however, repeatedly
expressed his anxiety for the safety of the boats, and wished
much to have them hoisted on board. At seven p.m. one of
the boats, as he feared, was unluckily filled with sea from a
wave breaking into her, and it was with great difficulty that she
could be baled out and got on board, with the loss of her oars,
rudder, and loose thwarts. Such was the motion of the ship
that in taking this boat on board her gunwale was stove in, and
she otherwise received considerable damage. Night
approached, but it was still found quite impossible to go near
the rock. Consulting, therefore, the safety of the second
boat, she also was hoisted on board of the tender.</p>
<p>At this time the cabins of the beacon were only partially
covered, and had neither been provided with bedding nor a proper
fireplace, while the stock of provisions was but slender.
In these uncomfortable circumstances the people on the beacon
were left for the night, nor was the situation of those on board
of the tender much better. The rolling and pitching motion
of the ship was excessive; and, excepting to those who had been
accustomed to a residence in the floating light, it seemed quite
intolerable. Nothing was heard but the hissing of the winds
and the creaking of the bulkheads or partitions of the ship; the
night was, therefore, spent in the most unpleasant reflections
upon the condition of the people on the beacon, especially in the
prospect of the tender being driven from her moorings. But,
even in such a case, it afforded some consolation that the
stability of the fabric was never doubted, and that the boats of
the floating light were at no great distance, and ready to render
the people on the rock the earliest assistance which the weather
would permit. The writer’s cabin being in the
sternmost part of the ship, which had what sailors term a good
entry, or was sharp built, the sea, as before noticed, struck her
counter with so much violence that the water, with a rushing
noise, continually forced its way up the rudder-case, lifted the
valve of the water-closet, and overran the cabin floor. In
these circumstances daylight was eagerly looked for, and hailed
with delight, as well by those afloat as by the artificers upon
the rock.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 2nd June]</p>
<p>In the course of the night the writer held repeated
conversations with the officer on watch, who reported that the
weather continued much in the same state, and that the barometer
still indicated 29.20 inches. At six a.m. the
landing-master considered the weather to have somewhat moderated;
and, from certain appearances of the sky, he was of opinion that
a change for the better would soon take place. He
accordingly proposed to attempt a landing at low-water, and
either get the people off the rock, or at least ascertain what
state they were in. At nine a.m. he left the vessel with a
boat well manned, carrying with him a supply of cooked provisions
and a tea-kettle full of mulled port wine for the people on the
beacon, who had not had any regular diet for about thirty hours,
while they were exposed during that period, in a great measure,
both to the winds and the sprays of the sea. The boat
having succeeded in landing, she returned at eleven a.m. with the
artificers, who had got off with considerable difficulty, and who
were heartily welcomed by all on board.</p>
<p>Upon inquiry it appeared that three of the stones last laid
upon the building had been partially lifted from their beds by
the force of the sea, and were now held only by the trenails, and
that the cast-iron sheer-crane had again been thrown down and
completely broken. With regard to the beacon, the sea at
high-water had lifted part of the mortar gallery or lowest floor,
and washed away all the lime-casks and other movable articles
from it; but the principal parts of this fabric had sustained no
damage. On pressing Messrs. Logan and Watt on the situation
of things in the course of the night, Mr. Logan emphatically
said: ‘That the beacon had an <i>ill-faured</i> <a
name="citation171a"></a><a href="#footnote171a"
class="citation">[171a]</a> <i>twist</i> when the sea broke upon
it at high-water, but that they were not very apprehensive of
danger.’ On inquiring as to how they spent the night,
it appeared that they had made shift to keep a small fire
burning, and by means of some old sails defended themselves
pretty well from the sea sprays.</p>
<p>It was particularly mentioned that by the exertions of James
Glen, one of the joiners, a number of articles were saved from
being washed off the mortar gallery. Glen was also very
useful in keeping up the spirits of the forlorn party. In
the early part of life he had undergone many curious adventures
at sea, which he now recounted somewhat after the manner of the
tales of the <i>Arabian Nights</i>. When one observed that
the beacon was a most comfortless lodging, Glen would presently
introduce some of his exploits and hardships, in comparison with
which the state of things at the beacon bore an aspect of comfort
and happiness. Looking to their slender stock of
provisions, and their perilous and uncertain chance of speedy
relief, he would launch out into an account of one of his
expeditions in the North Sea, when the vessel, being much
disabled in a storm, was driven before the wind with the loss of
almost all their provisions; and the ship being much infested
with rats, the crew hunted these vermin with great eagerness to
help their scanty allowance. By such means Glen had the
address to make his companions, in some measure, satisfied, or at
least passive, with regard to their miserable prospects upon this
half-tide rock in the middle of the ocean. This incident is
noticed, more particularly, to show the effects of such a happy
turn of mind, even under the most distressing and ill-fated
circumstances.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 17th June]</p>
<p>At eight a.m. the artificers and sailors, forty-five in
number, landed on the rock, and after four hours’ work
seven stones were laid. The remainder of this tide, from
the threatening appearance of the weather, was occupied in
trenailing and making all things as secure as possible. At
twelve noon the rock and building were again overflowed, when the
masons and seamen went on board of the tender, but Mr. Watt, with
his squad of ten men, remained on the beacon throughout the
day. As it blew fresh from the N.W. in the evening, it was
found impracticable either to land the building artificers or to
take the artificers off the beacon, and they were accordingly
left there all night, but in circumstances very different from
those of the 1st of this month. The house, being now in a
more complete state, was provided with bedding, and they spent
the night pretty well, though they complained of having been much
disturbed at the time of high-water by the shaking and tremulous
motion of their house and by the plashing noise of the sea upon
mortar gallery. Here James Glen’s versatile powers
were again at work in cheering up those who seemed to be alarmed,
and in securing everything as far as possible. On this
occasion he had only to recall to the recollections of some of
them the former night which they had spent on the beacon, the
wind and sea being then much higher, and their habitation in a
far less comfortable state.</p>
<p>The wind still continuing to blow fresh from the N.W., at five
p.m. the writer caused a signal to be made from the tender for
the <i>Smeaton and Patriot</i> to slip their moorings, when they
ran for Lunan Bay, an anchorage on the east side of the
Redhead. Those on board of the tender spent but a very
rough night, and perhaps slept less soundly than their companions
on the beacon, especially as the wind was at N.W., which caused
the vessel to ride with her stern towards the Bell Rock; so that,
in the event of anything giving way, she could hardly have
escaped being stranded upon it.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 18th June]</p>
<p>The weather having moderated to-day, the wind shifted to the
westward. At a quarter-past nine a.m. the artificers landed
from the tender and had the pleasure to find their friends who
had been left on the rock quite hearty, alleging that the beacon
was the preferable quarters of the two.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 24th June]</p>
<p>Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman builder, and his squad,
twenty-one in number, landed this morning at three o’clock,
and continued at work four hours and a quarter, and after laying
seventeen stones returned to the tender. At six a.m. Mr.
Francis Watt and his squad of twelve men landed, and proceeded
with their respective operations at the beacon and railways, and
were left on the rock during the whole day without the necessity
of having any communication with the tender, the kitchen of the
beacon-house being now fitted up. It was to-day, also, that
Peter Fortune—a most obliging and well-known character in
the Lighthouse service—was removed from the tender to the
beacon as cook and steward, with a stock of provisions as ample
as his limited store-room would admit.</p>
<p>When as many stones were built as comprised this day’s
work, the demand for mortar was proportionally increased, and the
task of the mortar-makers on these occasions was both laborious
and severe. This operation was chiefly performed by John
Watt—a strong, active quarrier by profession,—who was
a perfect character in his way, and extremely zealous in his
department. While the operations of the mortar-makers
continued, the forge upon the gallery was not generally in use;
but, as the working hours of the builders extended with the
height of the building, the forge could not be so long wanted,
and then a sad confusion often ensued upon the circumscribed
floor of the mortar gallery, as the operations of Watt and his
assistants trenched greatly upon those of the smiths. Under
these circumstances the boundary of the smiths was much
circumscribed, and they were personally annoyed, especially in
blowy weather, with the dust of the lime in its powdered
state. The mortar-makers, on the other hand, were often not
a little distressed with the heat of the fire and the sparks
elicited on the anvil, and not unaptly complained that they were
placed between the ‘devil and the deep sea.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 25th June]</p>
<p>The work being now about ten feet in height, admitted of a
rope-ladder being distended <a name="citation174a"></a><a
href="#footnote174a" class="citation">[174a]</a> between the
beacon and the building. By this ‘Jacob’s
Ladder,’ as the seamen termed it, a communication was kept
up with the beacon while the rock was considerably under
water. One end of it being furnished with tackle-blocks,
was fixed to the beams of the beacon, at the level of the mortar
gallery, while the further end was connected with the upper
course of the building by means of two Lewis bats which were
lifted from course to course as the work advanced. In the
same manner a rope furnished with a travelling pulley was
distended for the purpose of transporting the mortar-buckets, and
other light articles between the beacon and the building, which
also proved a great conveniency to the work. At this period
the rope-ladder and tackle for the mortar had a descent from the
beacon to the building; by and by they were on a level, and
towards the end of the season, when the solid part had attained
its full height, the ascent was from the mortar gallery to the
building.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 30th June]</p>
<p>The artificers landed on the rock this morning at a
quarter-past six, and remained at work five hours. The
cooking apparatus being now in full operation, all hands had
breakfast on the beacon at the usual hour, and remained there
throughout the day. The crane upon the building had to be
raised to-day from the eighth to the ninth course, an operation
which now required all the strength that could be mustered for
working the guy-tackles; for as the top of the crane was at this
time about thirty-five feet above the rock, it became much more
unmanageable. While the beam was in the act of swinging
round from one guy to another, a great strain was suddenly
brought upon the opposite tackle, with the end of which the
artificers had very improperly neglected to take a turn round
some stationary object, which would have given them the complete
command of the tackle. Owing to this simple omission, the
crane got a preponderancy to one side, and fell upon the building
with a terrible crash. The surrounding artificers
immediately flew in every direction to get out of its way; but
Michael Wishart, the principal builder, having unluckily stumbled
upon one of the uncut trenails, fell upon his back. His
body fortunately got between the movable beam and the upright
shaft of the crane, and was thus saved; but his feet got
entangled with the wheels of the crane and were severely
injured. Wishart, being a robust young man, endured his
misfortune with wonderful firmness; he was laid upon one of the
narrow framed beds of the beacon and despatched in a boat to the
tender, where the writer was when this accident happened, not a
little alarmed on missing the crane from the top of the building,
and at the same time seeing a boat rowing towards the vessel with
great speed. When the boat came alongside with poor
Wishart, stretched upon a bed covered with blankets, a moment of
great anxiety followed, which was, however, much relieved when,
on stepping into the boat, he was accosted by Wishart, though in
a feeble voice, and with an aspect pale as death from excessive
bleeding. Directions having been immediately given to the
coxswain to apply to Mr. Kennedy at the workyard to procure the
best surgical aid, the boat was sent off without delay to
Arbroath. The writer then landed at the rock, when the
crane was in a very short time got into its place and again put
in a working state.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 3rd July]</p>
<p>The writer having come to Arbroath with the yacht, had an
opportunity of visiting Michael Wishart, the artificer who had
met with so severe an accident at the rock on the 30th ult., and
had the pleasure to find him in a state of recovery. From
Dr. Stevenson’s account, under whose charge he had been
placed, hopes were entertained that amputation would not be
necessary, as his patient still kept free of fever or any
appearance of mortification; and Wishart expressed a hope that he
might, at least, be ultimately capable of keeping the light at
the Bell Rock, as it was not now likely that he would assist
further in building the house.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 8th July]</p>
<p>It was remarked to-day, with no small demonstration of joy,
that the tide, being neap, did not, for the first time, overflow
the building at high-water. Flags were accordingly hoisted
on the beacon-house, and crane on the top of the building, which
were repeated from the floating light, Lighthouse yacht, tender,
<i>Smeaton</i>, <i>Patriot</i>, and the two praams. A
salute of three guns was also fired from the yacht at high-water,
when, all the artificers being collected on the top of the
building, three cheers were given in testimony of this important
circumstance. A glass of rum was then served out to all
hands on the rock and on board of the respective ships.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 16th July]</p>
<p>Besides laying, boring, trenailing, wedging, and grouting
thirty-two stones, several other operations were proceeded with
on the rock at low-water, when some of the artificers were
employed at the railways, and at high-water at the
beacon-house. The seamen having prepared a quantity of
tarpaulin, or cloth laid over with successive coats of hot tar,
the joiners had just completed the covering of the roof with
it. This sort of covering was lighter and more easily
managed than sheet-lead in such a situation. As a further
defence against the weather the whole exterior of this temporary
residence was painted with three coats of white-lead paint.
Between the timber framing of the habitable part of the beacon
the interstices were to be stuffed with moss, as a light
substance that would resist dampness and check sifting winds; the
whole interior was then to be lined with green baize cloth, so
that both without and within the cabins were to have a very
comfortable appearance.</p>
<p>Although the building artificers generally remained on the
rock throughout the day, and the millwrights, joiners, and
smiths, while their number was considerable, remained also during
the night, yet the tender had hitherto been considered as their
night quarters. But the wind having in the course of the
day shifted to the N.W., and as the passage to the tender, in the
boats, was likely to be attended with difficulty, the whole of
the artificers, with Mr. Logan, the foreman, preferred remaining
all night on the beacon, which had of late become the solitary
abode of George-Forsyth, a jobbing upholsterer, who had been
employed in lining the beacon-house with cloth and in fitting up
the bedding. Forsyth was a tall, thin, and rather
loose-made man, who had an utter aversion at climbing upon the
trap-ladders of the beacon, but especially at the process of
boating, and the motion of the ship, which he said ‘was
death itself.’ He therefore pertinaciously insisted
with the landing-master in being left upon the beacon, with a
small black dog as his only companion. The writer, however,
felt some delicacy in leaving a single individual upon the rock,
who must have been so very helpless in case of accident.
This fabric had, from the beginning, been rather intended by the
writer to guard against accident from the loss or damage of a
boat, and as a place for making mortar, a smith’s shop, and
a store for tools during the working months, than as permanent
quarters; nor was it at all meant to be possessed until tile
joiner-work was completely finished, and his own cabin, and that
for the foreman, in readiness, when it was still to be left to
the choice of the artificers to occupy the tender or the
beacon. He, however, considered Forsyth’s partiality
and confidence in the latter as rather a fortunate
occurrence.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 19th July]</p>
<p>The whole of the artificers, twenty-three in number, now
removed of their own accord from the tender, to lodge in the
beacon, together with Peter Fortune, a person singularly adapted
for a residence of this kind, both from the urbanity of his
manners and the versatility of his talents. Fortune, in his
person, was of small stature, and rather corpulent. Besides
being a good Scots cook, he had acted both as groom and
house-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, a writer’s
clerk, and an apothecary, from which he possessed the art of
writing and suggesting recipes, and had hence, also, perhaps,
acquired a turn for making collections in natural history.
But in his practice in surgery on the Bell Rock, for which he
received an annual fee of three guineas, he is supposed to have
been rather partial to the use of the lancet. In short,
Peter was the <i>factotum</i> of the beacon-house, where he
ostensibly acted in the several capacities of cook, steward,
surgeon, and barber, and kept a statement of the rations or
expenditure of the provisions with the strictest integrity.</p>
<p>In the present important state of the building, when it had
just attained the height of sixteen feet, and the upper courses,
and especially the imperfect one, were in the wash of the
heaviest seas, an express boat arrived at the rock with a letter
from Mr. Kennedy, of the workyard, stating that in consequence of
the intended expedition to Walcheren, an embargo had been laid on
shipping at all the ports of Great Britain: that both the
<i>Smeaton</i> and <i>Patriot</i> were detained at Arbroath, and
that but for the proper view which Mr. Ramsey, the port officer,
had taken of his orders, neither the express boat nor one which
had been sent with provisions and necessaries for the floating
light would have been permitted to leave the harbour. The
writer set off without delay for Arbroath, and on landing used
every possible means with the official people, but their orders
were deemed so peremptory that even boats were not permitted to
sail from any port upon the coast. In the meantime, the
collector of the Customs at Montrose applied to the Board at
Edinburgh, but could, of himself, grant no relief to the Bell
Rock shipping.</p>
<p>At this critical period Mr. Adam Duff, then Sheriff of
Forfarshire, now of the county of Edinburgh, and <i>ex
officio</i> one of the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses,
happened to be at Arbroath. Mr. Duff took an immediate
interest in representing the circumstances of the case to the
Board of Customs at Edinburgh. But such were the doubts
entertained on the subject that, on having previously received
the appeal from the collector at Montrose, the case had been
submitted to the consideration of the Lords of the Treasury,
whose decision was now waited for.</p>
<p>In this state of things the writer felt particularly desirous
to get the thirteenth course finished, that the building might be
in a more secure state in the event of bad weather. An
opportunity was therefore embraced on the 25th, in sailing with
provisions for the floating light, to carry the necessary stones
to the rock for this purpose, which were landed and built on the
26th and 27th. But so closely was the watch kept up that a
Custom-house officer was always placed on board of the
<i>Smeaton</i> and <i>Patriot</i> while they were afloat, till
the embargo was especially removed from the lighthouse
vessels. The artificers at the Bell Rock had been reduced
to fifteen, who were regularly supplied with provisions, along
with the crew of the floating light, mainly through the port
officer’s liberal interpretation of his orders.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 1st Aug.]</p>
<p>There being a considerable swell and breach of sea upon the
rock yesterday, the stones could not be got landed till the day
following, when the wind shifted to the southward and the weather
improved. But to-day no less than seventy-eight blocks of
stone were landed, of which forty were built, which completed the
fourteenth and part of the fifteenth courses. The number of
workmen now resident in the beacon-house was augmented to
twenty-four, including the landing-master’s crew from the
tender and the boat’s crew from the floating light, who
assisted at landing the stones. Those daily at work upon
the rock at this period amounted to forty-six. A cabin had
been laid out for the writer on the beacon, but his apartment had
been the last which was finished, and he had not yet taken
possession of it; for though he generally spent the greater part
of the day, at this time, upon the rock, yet he always slept on
board of the tender.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 11th Aug.]</p>
<p>The wind was at S. E. on the 11th, and there was so very heavy
a swell of sea upon the rock that no boat could approach it.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 12th Aug.]</p>
<p>The gale still continuing from the S.E., the sea broke with
great violence both upon the building and the beacon. The
former being twenty-three feet in height, the upper part of the
crane erected on it having been lifted from course to course as
the building advanced, was now about thirty-six feet above the
rock. From observations made on the rise of the sea by this
crane, the artificers were enabled to estimate its height to be
about fifty feet above the rock, while the sprays fell with a
most alarming noise upon their cabins. At low-water, in the
evening, a signal was made from the beacon, at the earnest desire
of some of the artificers, for the boats to come to the rock; and
although this could not be effected without considerable hazard,
it was, however, accomplished, when twelve of their number, being
much afraid, applied to the foreman to be relieved, and went on
board of the tender. But the remaining fourteen continued
on the rock, with Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman builder.
Although this rule of allowing an option to every man either to
remain on the rock or return to the tender was strictly adhered
to, yet, as it would have been extremely inconvenient to have the
men parcelled out in this manner, it became necessary to embrace
the first opportunity of sending those who had left the beacon to
the workyard, with as little appearance of intention as possible,
lest it should hurt their feelings, or prevent others from acting
according to their wishes, either in landing on the rock or
remaining on the beacon.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 15th Aug.]</p>
<p>The wind had fortunately shifted to the S.W. this morning, and
though a considerable breach was still upon the rock, yet the
landing-master’s crew were enabled to get one praam-boat,
lightly loaded with five stones, brought in safety to the western
creek; these stones were immediately laid by the artificers, who
gladly embraced the return of good weather to proceed with their
operations. The writer had this day taken possession of his
cabin in the beacon-house. It was small, but commodious,
and was found particularly convenient in coarse and blowing
weather, instead of being obliged to make a passage to the tender
in an open boat at all times, both during the day and the night,
which was often attended with much difficulty and danger.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 19th Aug.]</p>
<p>For some days past the weather had been occasionally so thick
and foggy that no small difficulty was experienced in going even
between the rock and the tender, though quite at hand. But
the floating light’s boat lost her way so far in returning
on board that the first land she made, after rowing all night,
was Fifeness, a distance of about fourteen miles. The
weather having cleared in the morning, the crew stood off again
for the floating light, and got on board in a half-famished and
much exhausted state, having been constantly rowing for about
sixteen hours.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 20th Aug.]</p>
<p>The weather being very favourable to-day, fifty-three stones
were landed, and the builders were not a little gratified in
having built the twenty-second course, consisting of fifty-one
stones, being the first course which had been completed in one
day. This, as a matter of course, produced three hearty
cheers. At twelve noon prayers were read for the first time
on the Bell Rock; those present, counting thirty, were crowded
into the upper apartment of the beacon, where the writer took a
central position, while two of the artificers, joining hands,
supported the Bible.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 25th Aug.]</p>
<p>To-day the artificers laid forty-five stones, which completed
the twenty-fourth course, reckoning above the first entire one,
and the twenty-sixth above the rock. This finished the
solid part of the building, and terminated the height of the
outward casing of granite, which is thirty-one feet six inches
above the rock or site of the foundation-stone, and about
seventeen feet above high-water of spring-tides. Being a
particular crisis in the progress of the lighthouse, the landing
and laying of the last stone for the season was observed with the
usual ceremonies.</p>
<p>From observations often made by the writer, in so far as such
can be ascertained, it appears that no wave in the open seas, in
an unbroken state, rises more than from seven to nine feet above
the general surface of the ocean. The Bell Rock Lighthouse
may therefore now be considered at from eight to ten feet above
the height of the waves; and, although the sprays and heavy seas
have often been observed, in the present state of the building,
to rise to the height of fifty feet, and fall with a tremendous
noise on the beacon-house, yet such seas were not likely to make
any impression on a mass of solid masonry, containing about 1400
tons,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 30th Aug.]</p>
<p>The whole of the artificers left the rock at mid-day, when the
tender made sail for Arbroath, which she reached about six
p.m. The vessel being decorated with colours, and having
fired a salute of three guns on approaching the harbour, the
workyard artificers, with a multitude of people, assembled at the
harbour, when mutual cheering and congratulations took place
between those afloat and those on the quays. The tender had
now, with little exception, been six months on the station at the
Bell Rock, and during the last four months few of the squad of
builders had been ashore. In particular, Mr. Peter Logan,
the foreman, and Mr. Robert Selkirk, principal builder, had never
once left the rock. The artificers, having made good wages
during their stay, like seamen upon a return voyage, were
extremely happy, and spent the evening with much innocent mirth
and jollity.</p>
<p>In reflecting upon the state of the matters at the Bell Rock
during the working months, when the writer was much with the
artificers, nothing can equal the happy manner in which these
excellent workmen spent their time. They always went from
Arbroath to their arduous task cheering and they generally
returned in the same hearty state. While at the rock,
between the tides, they amused themselves in reading, fishing,
music, playing cards, draughts, etc., or in sporting with one
another. In the workyard at Arbroath the young men were
almost, without exception, employed in the evening at school, in
writing and arithmetic, and not a few were learning architectural
drawing, for which they had every convenience and facility, and
were, in a very obliging manner, assisted in their studies by Mr.
David Logan, clerk of the works. It therefore affords the
most pleasing reflections to look back upon the pursuits of about
sixty individuals who for years conducted themselves, on all
occasions, in a sober and rational manner.</p>
<h3>IV—OPERATIONS OF 1810</h3>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 10th May]</p>
<p>The wind had shifted to-day to W.N.W., when the writer, with
considerable difficulty, was enabled to land upon the rock for
the first time this season, at ten a.m. Upon examining the
state of the building, and apparatus in general, he had the
satisfaction to find everything in good order. The mortar
in all the joints was perfectly entire. The building, now
thirty feet in height, was thickly coated with <i>fuci</i> to the
height of about fifteen feet, calculating from the rock: on the
eastern side, indeed, the growth of seaweed was observable to the
full height of thirty feet, and even on the top or upper bed of
the last-laid course, especially towards the eastern side, it had
germinated, so as to render walking upon it somewhat
difficult.</p>
<p>The beacon-house was in a perfectly sound state, and
apparently just as it had been left in the month of
November. But the tides being neap, the lower parts,
particularly where the beams rested on the rock, could not now be
seen. The floor of the mortar gallery having been already
laid down by Mr. Watt and his men on a former visit, was merely
soaked with the sprays; but the joisting-beams which supported it
had, in the course of the winter, been covered with a fine downy
conferva produced by the range of the sea. They were also a
good deal whitened with the mute of the cormorant and other
sea-fowls, which had roosted upon the beacon in winter.
Upon ascending to the apartments, it was found that the motion of
the sea had thrown open the door of the cook-house: this was only
shut with a single latch, that in case of shipwreck at the Bell
Rock the mariner might find ready access to the shelter of this
forlorn habitation, where a supply of provisions was kept; and
being within two miles and a half of the floating light, a signal
could readily be observed, when a boat might be sent to his
relief as the weather permitted. An arrangement for this
purpose formed one of the instructions on board of the floating
light, but happily no instance occurred for putting it in
practice. The hearth or fireplace of the cook-house was
built of brick in as secure a manner as possible, to prevent
accident from fire; but some of the plaster-work had shaken
loose, from its damp state and the tremulous motion of the beacon
in stormy weather. The writer next ascended to the floor
which was occupied by the cabins of himself and his assistants,
which were in tolerably good order, having only a damp and musty
smell. The barrack for the artificers, over all, was next
visited; it had now a very dreary and deserted appearance when
its former thronged state was recollected. In some parts
the water had come through the boarding, and had discoloured the
lining of green cloth, but it was, nevertheless, in a good
habitable condition. While the seamen were employed in
landing a stock of provisions, a few of the artificers set to
work with great eagerness to sweep and clean the several
apartments. The exterior of the beacon was, in the
meantime, examined, and found in perfect order. The
painting, though it had a somewhat blanched appearance, adhered
firmly both on the sides and roof, and only two or three panes of
glass were broken in the cupola, which had either been blown out
by the force of the wind, or perhaps broken by sea-fowl.</p>
<p>Having on this occasion continued upon the building and beacon
a considerable time after the tide had begun to flow, the
artificers were occupied in removing the forge from the top of
the building, to which the gangway or wooden bridge gave great
facility; and, although it stretched or had a span of forty-two
feet, its construction was extremely simple, while the road-way
was perfectly firm and steady. In returning from this visit
to the rock every one was pretty well soused in spray before
reaching the tender at two o’clock p.m., where things
awaited the landing party in as comfortable a way as such a
situation would admit.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 11th May]</p>
<p>The wind was still easterly, accompanied with rather a heavy
swell of sea for the operations in hand. A landing was,
however, made this morning, when the artificers were immediately
employed in scraping the seaweed off the upper course of the
building, in order to apply the moulds of the first course of the
staircase, that the joggle-holes might be marked off in the upper
course of the solid. This was also necessary previously to
the writer’s fixing the position of the entrance door,
which was regulated chiefly by the appearance of the growth of
the seaweed on the building, indicating the direction of the
heaviest seas, on the opposite side of which the door was
placed. The landing-master’s crew succeeded in towing
into the creek on the western side of the rock the praam-boat
with the balance-crane, which had now been on board of the praam
for five days. The several pieces of this machine, having
been conveyed along the railways upon the waggons to a position
immediately under the bridge, were elevated to its level, or
thirty feet above the rock, in the following manner. A
chain-tackle was suspended over a pulley from the cross-beam
connecting the tops of the kingposts of the bridge, which was
worked by a winch-machine with wheel, pinion, and barrel, round
which last the chain was wound. This apparatus was placed
on the beacon side of the bridge, at the distance of about twelve
feet from the cross-beam and pulley in the middle of the
bridge. Immediately under the cross-beam a hatch was formed
in the roadway of the bridge, measuring seven feet in length and
five feet in breadth, made to shut with folding boards like a
double door, through which stones and other articles were raised;
the folding doors were then let down, and the stone or load was
gently lowered upon a waggon which was wheeled on railway trucks
towards the lighthouse. In this manner the several castings
of the balance-crane were got up to the top of the solid of the
building.</p>
<p>The several apartments of the beacon-house having been cleaned
out and supplied with bedding, a sufficient stock of provisions
was put into the store, when Peter Fortune, formerly noticed,
lighted his fire in the beacon for the first time this
season. Sixteen artificers at the same time mounted to
their barrack-room, and all the foremen of the works also took
possession of their cabin, all heartily rejoiced at getting rid
of the trouble of boating and the sickly motion of the
tender.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 12th May]</p>
<p>The wind was at E.N.E., blowing so fresh, and accompanied with
so much sea, that no stones could be landed to-day. The
people on the rock, however, were busily employed in screwing
together the balance-crane, cutting out the joggle-holes in the
upper course, and preparing all things for commencing the
building operations.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 13th May]</p>
<p>The weather still continues boisterous, although the barometer
has all the while stood at about 30 inches. Towards evening
the wind blew so fresh at E. by S. that the boats both of the
<i>Smeaton</i> and tender were obliged to be hoisted in, and it
was feared that the <i>Smeaton</i> would have to slip her
moorings. The people on the rock were seen busily employed,
and had the balance-crane apparently ready for use, but no
communication could be had with them to-day.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 14th May]</p>
<p>The wind continued to blow so fresh, and the <i>Smeaton</i>
rode so heavily with her cargo, that at noon a signal was made
for her getting under weigh, when she stood towards Arbroath; and
on board of the tender we are still without any communication
with the people on the rock, where the sea was seen breaking over
the top of the building in great sprays, and raging with much
agitation among the beams of the beacon.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 17th May]</p>
<p>The wind, in the course of the day, had shifted from north to
west; the sea being also considerably less, a boat landed on the
rock at six p.m., for the first time since the 11th, with the
provisions and water brought off by the <i>Patriot</i>. The
inhabitants of the beacon were all well, but tired above measure
for want of employment, as the balance-crane and apparatus was
all in readiness. Under these circumstances they felt no
less desirous of the return of good weather than those afloat,
who were continually tossed with the agitation of the sea.
The writer, in particular, felt himself almost as much fatigued
and worn-out as he had been at any period since the commencement
of the work. The very backward state of the weather at so
advanced a period of the season unavoidably created some alarm,
lest he should be overtaken with bad weather at a late period of
the season, with the building operations in an unfinished
state. These apprehensions were, no doubt, rather increased
by the inconveniences of his situation afloat, as the tender
rolled and pitched excessively at times. This being also
his first off-set for the season, every bone of his body felt
sore with preserving a sitting posture while he endeavoured to
pass away the time in reading; as for writing, it was wholly
impracticable. He had several times entertained thoughts of
leaving the station for a few days and going into Arbroath with
the tender till the weather should improve; but as the artificers
had been landed on the rock he was averse to this at the
commencement of the season, knowing also that he would be equally
uneasy in every situation till the first cargo was landed: and he
therefore resolved to continue at his post until this should be
effected.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 18th May]</p>
<p>The wind being now N.W., the sea was considerably run down,
and this morning at five o’clock the landing-master’s
crew, thirteen in number, left the tender; and having now no
detention with the landing of artificers, they proceeded to
unmoor the <i>Hedderwick</i> praam-boat, and towed her alongside
of the <i>Smeaton</i>: and in the course of the day twenty-three
blocks of stone, three casks of pozzolano, three of sand, three
of lime, and one of Roman cement, together with three bundles of
trenails and three of wedges, were all landed on the rock and
raised the top of the building by means of the tackle suspended
from the cross-beam on the middle of the bridge. The stones
were then moved along the bridge on the waggon to the building
within reach of the balance-crane, with which they were laid in
their respective places on the building. The masons
immediately thereafter proceeded to bore the trenail-holes into
the course below, and otherwise to complete the one in
hand. When the first stone was to be suspended by the
balance-crane, the bell on the beacon was rung, and all the
artificers and seamen were collected on the building. Three
hearty cheers were given while it was lowered into its place, and
the steward served round a glass of rum, when success was drunk
to the further progress of the building.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 20th May]</p>
<p>The wind was southerly to-day, but there was much less sea
than yesterday, and the landing-master’s crew were enabled
to discharge and land twenty-three pieces of stone and other
articles for the work. The artificers had completed the
laying of the twenty-seventh or first course of the staircase
this morning, and in the evening they finished the boring,
trenailing, wedging, and grouting it with mortar. At twelve
o’clock noon the beacon-house bell was rung, and all hands
were collected on the top of the building, where prayers were
read for the first time on the lighthouse, which forcibly struck
every one, and had, upon the whole, a very impressive effect.</p>
<p>From the hazardous situation of the beacon-house with regard
to fire, being composed wholly of timber, there was no small risk
from accident: and on this account one of the most steady of the
artificers was appointed to see that the fire of the
cooking-house, and the lights in general, were carefully
extinguished at stated hours.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 4th June]</p>
<p>This being the birthday of our much-revered Sovereign King
George <span class="smcap">iii</span>, now in the fiftieth year
of his reign, the shipping of the Lighthouse service were this
morning decorated with colours according to the taste of their
respective captains. Flags were also hoisted upon the
beacon-house and balance-crane on the top of the building.
At twelve noon a salute was fired from the tender, when the
King’s health was drunk, with all the honours, both on the
rock and on board of the shipping.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 5th June]</p>
<p>As the lighthouse advanced in height, the cubical contents of
the stones were less, but they had to be raised to a greater
height; and the walls, being thinner, were less commodious for
the necessary machinery and the artificers employed, which
considerably retarded the work. Inconvenience was also
occasionally experienced from the men dropping their coats, hats,
mallets, and other tools, at high-water, which were carried away
by the tide; and the danger to the people themselves was now
greatly increased. Had any of them fallen from the beacon
or building at high-water, while the landing-master’s crew
were generally engaged with the craft at a distance, it must have
rendered the accident doubly painful to those on the rock, who at
this time had no boat, and consequently no means of rendering
immediate and prompt assistance. In such cases it would
have been too late to have got a boat by signal from the
tender. A small boat, which could be lowered at pleasure,
was therefore suspended by a pair of davits projected from the
cook-house, the keel being about thirty feet from the rock.
This boat, with its tackle was put under the charge of James
Glen, of whose exertions on the beacon mention has already been
made, and who, having in early life been a seaman, was also very
expert in the management of a boat. A life-buoy was
likewise suspended from the bridge, to which a coil of line two
hundred fathoms in length was attached, which could be let out to
a person falling into the water, or to the people in the boat,
should they not be able to work her with the oars.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 7th June]</p>
<p>To-day twelve stones were landed on the rock, being the
remainder of the <i>Patriot’s</i> cargo; and the artificers
built the thirty-ninth course, consisting of fourteen
stones. The Bell Rock works had now a very busy appearance,
as the lighthouse was daily getting more into form. Besides
the artificers and their cook, the writer and his servant were
also lodged on the beacon, counting in all twenty-nine; and at
low-water the landing-master’s crew, consisting of from
twelve to fifteen seamen, were employed in transporting the
building materials, working the landing apparatus on the rock,
and dragging the stone waggons along the railways.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 8th June]</p>
<p>In the course of this day the weather varied much. In
the morning it was calm, in the middle part of the day there were
light airs of wind from the south, and in the evening fresh
breezes from the east. The barometer in the writer’s
cabin in the beacon-house oscillated from 30 inches to 30.42, and
the weather was extremely pleasant. This, in any situation,
forms one of the chief comforts of life; but, as may easily be
conceived, it was doubly so to people stuck, as it were, upon a
pinnacle in the middle of the ocean.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 10th June]</p>
<p>One of the praam-boats had been brought to the rock with
eleven stones, notwithstanding the perplexity which attended the
getting of those formerly landed taken up to the building.
Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman builder, interposed, and prevented
this cargo from being delivered; but the landing-master’s
crew were exceedingly averse to this arrangement, from an idea
that “ill luck” would in future attend the praam, her
cargo, and those who navigated her, from thus reversing her
voyage. It may be noticed that this was the first instance
of a praam-boat having been sent from the Bell Rock with any part
of her cargo on board, and was considered so uncommon an
occurrence that it became a topic of conversation among the
seamen and artificers.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 12th June]</p>
<p>To-day the stones formerly sent from the rock were safely
landed, notwithstanding the augury of the seamen in consequence
of their being sent away two days before.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 14th June]</p>
<p>To-day twenty-seven stones and eleven joggle-pieces were
landed, part of which consisted of the forty-seventh course,
forming the storeroom floor. The builders were at work this
morning by four o’clock, in the hopes of being able to
accomplish the laying of the eighteen stones of this
course. But at eight o’clock in the evening they had
still two to lay, and as the stones of this course were very
unwieldy, being six feet in length, they required much precaution
and care both in lifting and laying them. It was only on
the writer’s suggestion to Mr. Logan that the artificers
were induced to leave off, as they had intended to complete this
floor before going to bed. The two remaining stones were,
however, laid in their places without mortar when the bell on the
beacon was rung, and, all hands being collected on the top of the
building, three hearty cheers were given on covering the first
apartment. The steward then served out a dram to each, when
the whole retired to their barrack much fatigued, but with the
anticipation of the most perfect repose even in the
“hurricane-house,” amidst the dashing seas on the
Bell Rock.</p>
<p>While the workmen were at breakfast and dinner it was the
writer’s usual practice to spend his time on the walls of
the building, which, notwithstanding the narrowness of the track,
nevertheless formed his principal walk when the rock was under
water. But this afternoon he had his writing-desk set upon
the storeroom floor, when he wrote to Mrs.
Stevenson—certainly the first letter dated from the Bell
Rock <i>Lighthouse</i>—giving a detail of the fortunate
progress of the work with an assurance that the lighthouse would
soon be completed at the rate at which it now proceeded; and, the
<i>Patriot</i> having sailed for Arbroath in the evening, he felt
no small degree of pleasure in despatching this communication to
his family.</p>
<p>The weather still continuing favourable for the operations at
the rock, the work proceeded with much energy, through the
exertions both of the seamen and artificers. For the more
speedy and effectual working of the several tackles in raising
the materials as the building advanced in height, and there being
a great extent of railway to attend to, which required constant
repairs, two additional millwrights were added to the complement
on the rock, which, including the writer, now counted thirty-one
in all. So crowded was the men’s barrack that the
beds were ranged five tier in height, allowing only about one
foot eight inches for each bed. The artificers commenced
this morning at five o’clock, and, in the course of the
day, they laid the forty-eighth and forty-ninth courses,
consisting each of sixteen blocks. From the favourable
state of the weather, and the regular manner in which the work
now proceeded, the artificers had generally from four to seven
extra hours’ work, which, including their stated wages of
3s. 4d., yielded them from 5s. 4d. to about 6s. 10d. per day
besides their board; even the postage of their letters was paid
while they were at the Bell Rock. In these advantages the
foremen also shared, having about double the pay and amount of
premiums of the artificers. The seamen being less out of
their element in the Bell Rock operations than the landsmen,
their premiums consisted in a slump sum payable at the end of the
season, which extended from three to ten guineas.</p>
<p>As the laying of the floors was somewhat tedious, the
landing-master and his crew had got considerably beforehand with
the building artificers in bringing materials faster to the rock
than they could be built. The seamen having, therefore,
some spare time, were occasionally employed during fine weather
in dredging or grappling for the several mushroom anchors and
mooring-chains which had been lost in the vicinity of the Bell
Rock during the progress of the work by the breaking loose and
drifting of the floating buoys. To encourage their
exertions in this search, five guineas were offered as a premium
for each set they should find; and, after much patient
application, they succeeded to-day in hooking one of these lost
anchors with its chain.</p>
<p>It was a general remark at the Bell Rock, as before noticed,
that fish were never plenty in its neighbourhood excepting in
good weather. Indeed, the seamen used to speculate about
the state of the weather from their success in fishing.
When the fish disappeared at the rock, it was considered a sure
indication that a gale was not far off, as the fish seemed to
seek shelter in deeper water from the roughness of the sea during
these changes in the weather. At this time the rock, at
high-water, was completely covered with podlies, or the fry of
the coal-fish, about six or eight inches in length. The
artificers sometimes occupied half an hour after breakfast and
dinner in catching these little fishes, but were more frequently
supplied from the boats of the tender.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 16th June]</p>
<p>The landing-master having this day discharged the
<i>Smeaton</i> and loaded the <i>Hedderwick and Dickie</i>
praam-boats with nineteen stones, they were towed to their
respective moorings, when Captain Wilson, in consequence of the
heavy swell of sea, came in his boat to the beacon-house to
consult with the writer as to the propriety of venturing the
loaded praam-boats with their cargoes to the rock while so much
sea was running. After some dubiety expressed on the
subject, in which the ardent mind of the landing-master suggested
many arguments in favour of his being able to convey the praams
in perfect safety, it was acceded to. In bad weather, and
especially on occasions of difficulty like the present, Mr.
Wilson, who was an extremely active seaman, measuring about five
feet three inches in height, of a robust habit, generally dressed
himself in what he called a <i>monkey jacket</i>, made of thick
duffle cloth, with a pair of Dutchman’s petticoat trousers,
reaching only to his knees, where they were met with a pair of
long water-tight boots; with this dress, his glazed hat, and his
small brass speaking trumpet in his hand, he bade defiance to the
weather. When he made his appearance in this most suitable
attire for the service his crew seemed to possess additional
life, never failing to use their utmost exertions when the
captain put on his <i>storm rigging</i>. They had this
morning commenced loading the praam-boats at four o’clock,
and proceeded to tow them into the eastern landing-place, which
was accomplished with much dexterity, though not without the risk
of being thrown, by the force of the sea, on certain projecting
ledges of the rock. In such a case the loss even of a
single stone would have greatly retarded the work. For the
greater safety in entering the creek it was necessary to put out
several warps and guy-ropes to guide the boats into its narrow
and intricate entrance; and it frequently happened that the sea
made a clean breach over the praams, which not only washed their
decks, but completely drenched the crew in water.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 17th June]</p>
<p>It was fortunate, in the present state of the weather, that
the fiftieth course was in a sheltered spot, within the reach of
the tackle of the winch-machine upon the bridge; a few stones
were stowed upon the bridge itself, and the remainder upon the
building, which kept the artificers at work. The stowing of
the materials upon the rock was the department of Alexander
Brebner, mason, who spared no pains in attending to the safety of
the stones, and who, in the present state of the work, when the
stones were landed faster than could be built, generally worked
till the water rose to his middle. At one o’clock
to-day the bell rung for prayers, and all hands were collected
into the upper barrack-room of the beacon-house, when the usual
service was performed.</p>
<p>The wind blew very hard in the course of last night from N.E.,
and to-day the sea ran so high that no boat could approach the
rock. During the dinner-hour, when the writer was going to
the top of the building as usual, but just as he had entered the
door and was about to ascend the ladder, a great noise was heard
overhead, and in an instant he was soused in water from a sea
which had most unexpectedly come over the walls, though now about
fifty-eight feet in height. On making his retreat he found
himself completely whitened by the lime, which had mixed with the
water while dashing down through the different floors; and, as
nearly as he could guess, a quantity equal to about a hogshead
had come over the walls, and now streamed out at the door.
After having shifted himself, he again sat down in his cabin, the
sea continuing to run so high that the builders did not resume
their operations on the walls this afternoon. The incident
just noticed did not create more surprise in the mind of the
writer than the sublime appearance of the waves as they rolled
majestically over the rock. This scene he greatly enjoyed
while sitting at his cabin window; each wave approached the
beacon like a vast scroll unfolding; and in passing discharged a
quantity of air, which he not only distinctly felt, but was even
sufficient to lift the leaves of a book which lay before
him. These waves might be ten or twelve feet in height, and
about 250 feet in length, their smaller end being towards the
north, where the water was deep, and they were opened or cut
through by the interposition of the building and beacon.
The gradual manner in which the sea, upon these occasions, is
observed to become calm or to subside, is a very remarkable
feature of this phenomenon. For example, when a gale is
succeeded by a calm, every third or fourth wave forms one of
these great seas, which occur in spaces of from three to five
minutes, as noted by the writer’s watch; but in the course
of the next tide they become less frequent, and take off so as to
occur only in ten or fifteen minutes; and, singular enough, at
the third tide after such gales, the writer has remarked that
only one or two of these great waves appear in the course of the
whole tide.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 19th June]</p>
<p>The 19th was a very unpleasant and disagreeable day, both for
the seamen and artificers, as it rained throughout with little
intermission from four a.m. till eleven p.m., accompanied with
thunder and lightning, during which period the work nevertheless
continued unremittingly, and the builders laid the fifty-first
and fifty-second courses. This state of weather was no less
severe upon the mortar-makers, who required to temper or prepare
the mortar of a thicker or thinner consistency, in some measure,
according to the state of the weather. From the elevated
position of the building, the mortar gallery on the beacon was
now much lower, and the lime-buckets were made to traverse upon a
rope distended between it and the building. On occasions
like the present, however, there was often a difference of
opinion between the builders and the mortar-makers. John
Watt, who had the principal charge of the mortar, was a most
active worker, but, being somewhat of an irascible temper, the
builders occasionally amused themselves at his expense; for while
he was eagerly at work with his large iron-shod pestle in the
mortar-tub, they often sent down contradictory orders, some
crying, ‘Make it a little stiffer, or thicker, John,’
while others called out to make it ‘thinner,’ to
which he generally returned very speedy and sharp replies, so
that these conversations at times were rather amusing.</p>
<p>During wet weather the situation of the artificers on the top
of the building was extremely disagreeable; for although their
work did not require great exertion, yet, as each man had his
particular part to perform, either in working the crane or in
laying the stones, it required the closest application and
attention, not only on the part of Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman,
who was constantly on the walls, but also of the chief
workmen. Robert Selkirk, the principal builder, for
example, had every stone to lay in its place. David
Cumming, a mason, had the charge of working the tackle of the
balance-weight, and James Scott, also a mason, took charge of the
purchase with which the stones were laid; while the pointing the
joints of the walls with cement was intrusted to William Reid and
William Kennedy, who stood upon a scaffold suspended over the
walls in rather a frightful manner. The least act of
carelessness or inattention on the part of any of these men might
have been fatal, not only to themselves, but also to the
surrounding workmen, especially if any accident had happened to
the crane itself, while the material damage or loss of a single
stone would have put an entire stop to the operations until
another could have been brought from Arbroath. The
artificers, having wrought seven and a half hours of extra time
to-day, had 3s. 9d. of extra pay, while the foremen had 7s. 6d.
over and above their stated pay and board. Although,
therefore, the work was both hazardous and fatiguing, yet, the
encouragement being considerable, they were always very cheerful,
and perfectly reconciled to the confinement and other
disadvantages of the place.</p>
<p>During fine weather, and while the nights were short, the duty
on board of the floating light was literally nothing but a
waiting on, and therefore one of her boats, with a crew of five
men, daily attended the rock, but always returned to the vessel
at night. The carpenter, however, was one of those who was
left on board of the ship, as he also acted in the capacity of
assistant lightkeeper, being, besides, a person who was apt to
feel discontent and to be averse to changing his quarters,
especially to work with the millwrights and joiners at the rock,
who often, for hours together, wrought knee-deep, and not
unfrequently up to the middle, in water. Mr. Watt having
about this time made a requisition for another hand, the
carpenter was ordered to attend the rock in the floating
light’s boat. This he did with great reluctance, and
found so much fault that he soon got into discredit with his
messmates. On this occasion he left the Lighthouse service,
and went as a sailor in a vessel bound for America—a step
which, it is believed, he soon regretted, as, in the course of
things, he would, in all probability, have accompanied Mr. John
Reid, the principal lightkeeper of the floating light, to the
Bell Rock Lighthouse as his principal assistant. The writer
had a wish to be of service to this man, as he was one of those
who came off to the floating light in the month of September
1807, while she was riding at single anchor after the severe gale
of the 7th, at a time when it was hardly possible to make up this
vessel’s crew; but the crossness of his manner prevented
his reaping the benefit of such intentions.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 22nd June]</p>
<p>The building operations had for some time proceeded more
slowly, from the higher parts of the lighthouse requiring much
longer time than an equal tonnage of the lower courses. The
duty of the landing-master’s crew had, upon the whole, been
easy of late; for though the work was occasionally irregular, yet
the stones being lighter, they were more speedily lifted from the
hold of the stone vessel to the deck of the praam-boat, and again
to the waggons on the railway, after which they came properly
under the charge of the foreman builder. It is, however, a
strange, though not an uncommon, feature in the human character,
that, when people have least to complain of, they are most apt to
become dissatisfied, as was now the case with the seamen employed
in the Bell Rock service about their rations of beer.
Indeed, ever since the carpenter of the floating light, formerly
noticed, had been brought to the rock, expressions of discontent
had been manifested upon various occasions. This being
represented to the writer, he sent for Captain Wilson, the
landing-master, and Mr. Taylor, commander of the tender, with
whom he talked over the subject. They stated that they
considered the daily allowance of the seamen in every respect
ample, and that, the work being now much lighter than formerly,
they had no just ground for complaint; Mr. Taylor adding that, if
those who now complained ‘were even to be fed upon soft
bread and turkeys, they would not think themselves
right.’ At twelve noon the work of the
landing-master’s crew was completed for the day; but at
four o’clock, while the rock was under water, those on the
beacon were surprised by the arrival of a boat from the tender
without any signal having been made from the beacon. It
brought the following note to the writer from the
landing-master’s crew:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Sir Joseph
Banks Tender</i>.</p>
<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—We are informed
by our masters that our allowance is to be as before, and it is
not sufficient to serve us, for we have been at work since four
o’clock this morning, and we have come on board to dinner,
and there is no beer for us before to-morrow morning, to which a
sufficient answer is required before we go from the beacon; and
we are, Sir, your most obedient servants.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On reading this, the writer returned a verbal message,
intimating that an answer would be sent on board of the tender,
at the same time ordering the boat instantly to quit the
beacon. He then addressed the following note to the
landing-master:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align:
right">‘<i>Beacon-house</i>, 22<i>nd</i> <i>June</i>
1810,<br />
<i>Five o’clock p.m</i>.</p>
<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I have just now
received a letter purporting to be from the
landing-master’s crew and seamen on board of the <i>Sir
Joseph Banks</i>, though without either date or signature; in
answer to which I enclose a statement of the daily allowance of
provisions for the seamen in this service, which you will post up
in the ship’s galley, and at seven o’clock this
evening I will come on board to inquire into this unexpected and
most unnecessary demand for an additional allowance of
beer. In the enclosed you will not find any alteration from
the original statement, fixed in the galley at the beginning of
the season. I have, however, judged this mode of giving
your people an answer preferable to that of conversing with them
on the beacon. —I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Robert
Stevenson</span>.</p>
<p>‘To <span class="smcap">Captain
Wilson</span>.’</p>
<p>‘<i>Beacon House</i>, 22<i>nd</i> <i>June</i>
1810.—Schedule of the daily allowance of provisions to be
served out on board of the <i>Sir Joseph Banks</i> tender:
“1½ lb. beef; 1 lb. bread; 8 oz. oatmeal; 2 oz.
barley; 2 oz. butter; 3 quarts beer; vegetables and salt no
stated allowance. When the seamen are employed in unloading
the <i>Smeaton</i> and <i>Patriot</i>, a draught of beer is, as
formerly, to be allowed from the stock of these vessels.
Further, in wet and stormy weather, or when the work commences
very early in the morning, or continues till a late hour at
night, a glass of spirits will also be served out to the crew as
heretofore, on the requisition of the landing-master.”</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Robert
Stevenson</span>.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On writing this letter and schedule, a signal was made on the
beacon for the landing-master’s boat, which immediately
came to the rock, and the schedule was afterwards stuck up in the
tender’s galley. When sufficient time had been
allowed to the crew to consider of their conduct, a second signal
was made for a boat, and at seven o’clock the writer left
the Bell Rock, after a residence of four successive weeks in the
beacon-house. The first thing which occupied his attention
on board of the tender was to look round upon the lighthouse,
which he saw, with some degree of emotion and surprise, now vying
in height with the beacon-house; for although he had often viewed
it from the extremity of the western railway on the rock, yet the
scene, upon the whole, seemed far more interesting from the
tender’s moorings at the distance of about half a mile.</p>
<p>The <i>Smeaton</i> having just arrived at her moorings with a
cargo, a signal was made for Captain Pool to come on board of the
tender, that he might be at hand to remove from the service any
of those who might persist in their discontented conduct.
One of the two principal leaders in this affair, the master of
one of the praam-boats, who had also steered the boat which
brought the letter to the beacon, was first called upon deck, and
asked if he had read the statement fixed up in the galley this
afternoon, and whether he was satisfied with it. He replied
that he had read the paper, but was not satisfied, as it held out
no alteration in the allowance, on which he was immediately
ordered into the <i>Smeaton’s</i> boat. The next man
called had but lately entered the service, and, being also
interrogated as to his resolution, he declared himself to be of
the same mind with the praam-master, and was also forthwith
ordered into the boat. The writer, without calling any more
of the seamen, went forward to the gangway, where they were
collected and listening to what was passing upon deck. He
addressed them at the hatchway, and stated that two of their
companions had just been dismissed the service and sent on board
of the <i>Smeaton</i> to be conveyed to Arbroath. He
therefore wished each man to consider for himself how far it
would be proper, by any unreasonableness of conduct, to place
themselves in a similar situation, especially as they were aware
that it was optional in him either to dismiss them or send them
on board a man-of-war. It might appear that much
inconveniency would be felt at the rock by a change of hands at
this critical period, by checking for a time the progress of a
building so intimately connected with the best interests of
navigation; yet this would be but of a temporary nature, while
the injury to themselves might be irreparable. It was now
therefore, required of any man who, in this disgraceful manner,
chose to leave the service, that he should instantly make his
appearance on deck while the <i>Smeaton’s</i> boat was
alongside. But those below having expressed themselves
satisfied with their situation-viz., William Brown, George Gibb,
Alexander Scott, John Dick, Robert Couper, Alexander Shephard,
James Grieve, David Carey, William Pearson, Stuart Eaton,
Alexander Lawrence, and John Spink—were accordingly
considered as having returned to their duty. This
disposition to mutiny, which had so strongly manifested itself,
being now happily suppressed, Captain Pool got orders to proceed
for Arbroath Bay, and land the two men he had on board, and to
deliver the following letter at the office of the
workyard:—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">‘<i>On board of
the Tender off the Bell Rock</i>,<br />
22<i>nd</i> <i>June</i> 1810, <i>eight o’clock p.m.</i></p>
<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—A
discontented and mutinous spirit having manifested itself of late
among the landing-master’s crew, they struck work to-day
and demanded an additional allowance of beer, and I have found it
necessary to dismiss D---d and M---e, who are now sent on shore
with the <i>Smeaton</i>. You will therefore be so good as
to pay them their wages, including this day only. Nothing
can be more unreasonable than the conduct of the seamen on this
occasion, as the landing-master’s crew not only had their
allowance on board of the tender, but, in the course of this day,
they had drawn no fewer than twenty-four quart pots of beer from
the stock of the <i>Patriot</i> while unloading her. —I
remain, yours truly,</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Robert
Stevenson</span>.</p>
<p>‘To Mr. <span class="smcap">Lachlan Kennedy</span>,<br
/>
Bell Rock Office,
Arbroath.’</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On despatching this letter to Mr. Kennedy, the writer returned
to the beacon about nine o’clock, where this
afternoon’s business had produced many conjectures,
especially when the <i>Smeaton</i> got under weigh, instead of
proceeding to land her cargo. The bell on the beacon being
rung, the artificers were assembled on the bridge, when the
affair was explained to them. He, at the same time,
congratulated them upon the first appearance of mutiny being
happily set at rest by the dismissal of its two principal
abettors.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 24th June]</p>
<p>At the rock the landing of the materials and the building
operations of the light-room store went on successfully, and in a
way similar to those of the provision store. To-day it blew
fresh breezes; but the seamen nevertheless landed twenty-eight
stones, and the artificers built the fifty-eighth and fifty-ninth
courses. The works were visited by Mr. Murdoch, junior,
from Messrs. Boulton and Watt’s works of Soho. He
landed just as the bell rung for prayers, after which the writer
enjoyed much pleasure from his very intelligent conversation;
and, having been almost the only stranger he had seen for some
weeks, he parted with him, after a short interview, with much
regret.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 28th June]</p>
<p>Last night the wind had shifted to north-east, and, blowing
fresh, was accompanied with a heavy surf upon the rock.
Towards high-water it had a very grand and wonderful
appearance. Waves of considerable magnitude rose as high as
the solid or level of the entrance-door, which, being open to the
south-west, was fortunately to the leeward; but on the windward
side the sprays flew like lightning up the sloping sides of the
building; and although the walls were now elevated sixty-four
feet above the rock, and about fifty-two feet from high-water
mark, yet the artificers were nevertheless wetted, and
occasionally interrupted, in their operations on the top of the
walls. These appearances were, in a great measure, new at
the Bell Rock, there having till of late been no building to
conduct the seas, or object to compare with them. Although,
from the description of the Eddystone Lighthouse, the mind was
prepared for such effects, yet they were not expected to the
present extent in the summer season; the sea being most awful
to-day, whether observed from the beacon or the building.
To windward, the sprays fell from the height above noticed in the
most wonderful cascades, and streamed down the walls of the
building in froth as white as snow. To leeward of the
lighthouse the collision or meeting of the waves produced a pure
white kind of <i>drift</i>; it rose about thirty feet in height,
like a fine downy mist, which, in its fall, fell upon the face
and hands more like a dry powder than a liquid substance.
The effect of these seas, as they raged among the beams and
dashed upon the higher parts of the beacon, produced a temporary
tremulous motion throughout the whole fabric, which to a stranger
must have been frightful.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 1st July]</p>
<p>The writer had now been at the Bell Rock since the latter end
of May, or about six weeks, during four of which he had been a
constant inhabitant of the beacon without having been once off
the rock. After witnessing the laying of the sixty-seventh
or second course of the bedroom apartment, he left the rock with
the tender and went ashore, as some arrangements were to be made
for the future conduct of the works at Arbroath, which were soon
to be brought to a close; the landing-master’s crew having,
in the meantime, shifted on board of the <i>Patriot</i>. In
leaving the rock, the writer kept his eyes fixed upon the
lighthouse, which had recently got into the form of a house,
having several tiers or stories of windows. Nor was he
unmindful of his habitation in the beacon—now far
overtopped by the masonry,—where he had spent several weeks
in a kind of active retirement, making practical experiment of
the fewness of the positive wants of man. His cabin
measured not more than four feet three inches in breadth on the
floor; and though, from the oblique direction of the beams of the
beacon, it widened towards the top, yet it did not admit of the
full extension of his arms when he stood on the floor; while its
length was little more than sufficient for suspending a cot-bed
during the night, calculated for being triced up to the roof
through the day, which left free room for the admission of
occasional visitants. His folding table was attached with
hinges, immediately under the small window of the apartment, and
his books, barometer, thermometer, portmanteau, and two or three
camp-stools, formed the bulk of his movables. His diet
being plain, the paraphernalia of the table were proportionally
simple; though everything had the appearance of comfort, and even
of neatness, the walls being covered with green cloth formed into
panels with red tape, and his bed festooned with curtains of
yellow cotton-stuff. If, in speculating upon the abstract
wants of man in such a state of exclusion, one were reduced to a
single book, the Sacred Volume—whether considered for the
striking diversity of its story, the morality of its doctrine, or
the important truths of its gospel—would have proved by far
the greatest treasure.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 2nd July]</p>
<p>In walking over the workyard at Arbroath this morning, the
writer found that the stones of the course immediately under the
cornice were all in hand, and that a week’s work would now
finish the whole, while the intermediate courses lay ready
numbered and marked for shipping to the rock. Among other
subjects which had occupied his attention to-day was a visit from
some of the relations of George Dall, a young man who had been
impressed near Dundee in the month of February last; a dispute
had arisen between the magistrates of that burgh and the
Regulating Officer as to his right of impressing Dall, who was
<i>bonâ fide</i> one of the protected seamen in the Bell
Rock service. In the meantime, the poor lad was detained,
and ultimately committed to the prison of Dundee, to remain until
the question should be tried before the Court of Session.
His friends were naturally very desirous to have him relieved
upon bail. But, as this was only to be done by the judgment
of the Court, all that could be said was that his pay and
allowances should be continued in the same manner as if he had
been upon the sick-list. The circumstances of Dall’s
case were briefly these:—He had gone to see some of his
friends in the neighbourhood of Dundee, in winter, while the
works were suspended, having got leave of absence from Mr.
Taylor, who commanded the Bell Rock tender, and had in his
possession one of the Protection Medals. Unfortunately,
however, for Dall, the Regulating Officer thought proper to
disregard these documents, as, according to the strict and
literal interpretation of the Admiralty regulations, a seaman
does not stand protected unless he is actually on board of his
ship, or in a boat belonging to her, or has the Admiralty
protection in his possession. This order of the Board,
however, cannot be rigidly followed in practice; and therefore,
when the matter is satisfactorily stated to the Regulating
Officer, the impressed man is generally liberated. But in
Dall’s case this was peremptorily refused, and he was
retained at the instance of the magistrates. The writer
having brought the matter under the consideration of the
Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, they authorised it to
be tried on the part of the Lighthouse Board, as one of extreme
hardship. The Court, upon the first hearing, ordered Dall
to be liberated from prison; and the proceedings never went
further.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Wednesday, 4th July]</p>
<p>Being now within twelve courses of being ready for building
the cornice, measures were taken for getting the stones of it and
the parapet-wall of the light-room brought from Edinburgh, where,
as before noticed, they had been prepared and were in readiness
for shipping. The honour of conveying the upper part of the
lighthouse, and of landing the last stone of the building on the
rock, was considered to belong to Captain Pool of the
<i>Smeaton</i>, who had been longer in the service than the
master of the <i>Patriot</i>. The <i>Smeaton</i> was,
therefore, now partly loaded with old iron, consisting of broken
railways and other lumber which had been lying about the
rock. After landing these at Arbroath, she took on board
James Craw, with his horse and cart, which could now be spared at
the workyard, to be employed in carting the stones from Edinburgh
to Leith. Alexander Davidson and William Kennedy, two
careful masons, were also sent to take charge of the loading of
the stones at Greenside, and stowing them on board of the vessel
at Leith. The writer also went on board, with a view to
call at the Bell Rock and to take his passage up the Firth of
Forth. The wind, however, coming to blow very fresh from
the eastward, with thick and foggy weather, it became necessary
to reef the mainsail and set the second jib. When in the
act of making a tack towards the tender, the sailors who worked
the head-sheets were, all of a sudden, alarmed with the sound of
the smith’s hammer and anvil on the beacon, and had just
time to put the ship about to save her from running ashore on the
northwestern point of the rock, marked ‘James Craw’s
Horse.’ On looking towards the direction from whence
the sound came, the building and beacon-house were seen, with
consternation, while the ship was hailed by those on the rock,
who were no less confounded at seeing the near approach of the
<i>Smeaton</i>; and, just as the vessel cleared the danger, the
smith and those in the mortar gallery made signs in token of
their happiness at our fortunate escape. From this
occurrence the writer had an experimental proof of the utility of
the large bells which were in preparation to be rung by the
machinery of the revolving light; for, had it not been the sound
of the smith’s anvil, the <i>Smeaton</i>, in all
probability, would have been wrecked upon the rock. In case
the vessel had struck, those on board might have been safe,
having now the beacon-house, as a place of refuge; but the
vessel, which was going at a great velocity, must have suffered
severely, and it was more than probable that the horse would have
been drowned, there being no means of getting him out of the
vessel. Of this valuable animal and his master we shall
take an opportunity of saying more in another place.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 5th July]</p>
<p>The weather cleared up in the course of the night, but the
wind shifted to the N.E. and blew very fresh. From the
force of the wind, being now the period of spring-tides, a very
heavy swell was experienced at the rock. At two
o’clock on the following morning the people on the beacon
were in a state of great alarm about their safety, as the sea had
broke up part of the floor of the mortar gallery!, which was thus
cleared of the lime-casks and other buoyant articles; and, the
alarm-bell being rung, all hands were called to render what
assistance was in their power for the safety of themselves and
the materials. At this time some would willingly have left
the beacon and gone into the building: the sea, however, ran so
high that there was no passage along the bridge of communication,
and, when the interior of the lighthouse came to be examined in
the morning, it appeared that great quantities of water had come
over the walls—now eighty feet in height—and had run
down through the several apartments and out at the entrance
door.</p>
<p>The upper course of the lighthouse at the workyard of Arbroath
was completed on the 6th, and the whole of the stones were,
therefore, now ready for being shipped to the rock. From
the present state of the works it was impossible that the two
squads of artificers at Arbroath and the Bell Rock could meet
together at this period; and as in public works of this kind,
which had continued for a series of years, it is not customary to
allow the men to separate without what is termed a
“finishing-pint,” five guineas were for this purpose
placed at the disposal of Mr. David Logan, clerk of works.
With this sum the stone-cutters at Arbroath had a merry meeting
in their barrack, collected their sweethearts and friends, and
concluded their labours with a dance. It was remarked,
however, that their happiness on this occasion was not without
alloy. The consideration of parting and leaving a steady
and regular employment, to go in quest of work and mix with other
society, after having been harmoniously lodged for years together
in one large “guildhall or barrack,” was rather
painful.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 6th July]</p>
<p>While the writer was at Edinburgh he was fortunate enough to
meet with Mrs. Dickson, only daughter of the late celebrated Mr.
Smeaton, whose works at the Eddystone Lighthouse had been of such
essential consequence to the operations at the Bell Rock.
Even her own elegant accomplishments are identified with her
father’s work, she having herself made the drawing of the
vignette on the title-page of the <i>Narrative of the Eddystone
Lighthouse</i>. Every admirer of the works of that
singularly eminent man must also feel an obligation to her for
the very comprehensive and distinct account given of his life,
which is attached to his reports, published, in three volumes
quarto, by the Society of Civil Engineers. Mrs. Dickson,
being at this time returning from a tour to the Hebrides and
Western Highlands of Scotland, had heard of the Bell Rock works,
and from their similarity to those of the Eddystone was strongly
impressed with a desire of visiting the spot. But on
inquiring for the writer at Edinburgh, and finding from him that
the upper part of the lighthouse, consisting of nine courses,
might be seen in the immediate vicinity, and also that one of the
vessels which, in compliment to her father’s memory, had
been named the <i>Smeaton</i>, might also now be seen in Leith,
she considered herself extremely fortunate; and having first
visited the works at Greenside, she afterwards went to Leith to
see the <i>Smeaton</i>, then loading for the Bell Rock. On
stepping on board, Mrs. Dickson seemed to be quite overcome with
so many concurrent circumstances, tending in a peculiar manner to
revive and enliven the memory of her departed father, and, on
leaving the vessel, she would not be restrained from presenting
the crew with a piece of money. The <i>Smeaton</i> had been
named spontaneously, from a sense of the obligation which a
public work of the description of the Bell Rock owed to the
labours and abilities of Mr. Smeaton. The writer certainly
never could have anticipated the satisfaction which he this day
felt in witnessing the pleasure it afforded to the only
representative of this great man’s family.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 20th July]</p>
<p>The gale from the N.E. still continued so strong, accompanied
with a heavy sea, that the <i>Patriot</i> could not approach her
moorings; and although the tender still kept her station, no
landing was made to-day at the rock. At high-water it was
remarked that the spray rose to the height of about sixty feet
upon the building. The <i>Smeaton</i> now lay in Leith
loaded, but, the wind and weather being so unfavourable for her
getting down the Firth, she did not sail till this
afternoon. It may be here proper to notice that the loading
of the centre of the light-room floor, or last principal stone of
the building, did not fail, when put on board, to excite an
interest among those connected with the work. When the
stone was laid upon the cart to be conveyed to Leith, the seamen
fixed an ensign-staff and flag into the circular hole in the
centre of the stone, and decorated their own hats, and that of
James Craw, the Bell Rock carter, with ribbons; even his faithful
and trusty horse Brassey was ornamented with bows and streamers
of various colours. The masons also provided themselves
with new aprons, and in this manner the cart was attended in its
progress to the ship. When the cart came opposite the
Trinity House of Leith, the officer of that corporation made his
appearance dressed in his uniform, with his staff of office; and
when it reached the harbour, the shipping in the different tiers
where the <i>Smeaton</i> lay hoisted their colours, manifesting
by these trifling ceremonies the interest with which the progress
of this work was regarded by the public, as ultimately tending to
afford safety and protection to the mariner. The wind had
fortunately shifted to the S.W., and about five o’clock
this afternoon the <i>Smeaton</i> reached the Bell Rock.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 27th July]</p>
<p>The artificers had finished the laying of the balcony course,
excepting the centre-stone of the light-room floor, which, like
the centres of the other floors, could not be laid in its place
till after the removal of the foot and shaft of the
balance-crane. During the dinner-hour, when the men were
off work the writer generally took some exercise by walking round
the walls when the rock was under water; but to-day his boundary
was greatly enlarged, for, instead of the narrow wall as a path,
he felt no small degree of pleasure in walking round the balcony
and passing out and in at the space allotted for the light-room
door. In the labours of this day both the artificers and
seamen felt their work to be extremely easy compared with what it
had been for some days past.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 29th July]</p>
<p>Captain Wilson and his crew had made preparations for landing
the last stone, and, as may well be supposed, this was a day of
great interest at the Bell Rock. ‘That it might lose
none of its honours,’ as he expressed himself, the
<i>Hedderwick</i> praam-boat, with which the first stone of the
building had been landed, was appointed also to carry the
last. At seven o’clock this evening the seamen
hoisted three flags upon the <i>Hedderwick</i>, when the colours
of the <i>Dickie</i> praam-boat, tender, <i>Smeaton</i>, floating
light, beacon-house, and lighthouse were also displayed; and, the
weather being remarkably fine, the whole presented a very gay
appearance, and, in connection with the associations excited, the
effect was very pleasing. The praam which carried the stone
was towed by the seamen in gallant style to the rock, and, on its
arrival, cheers were given as a finale to the landing
department.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 30th July]</p>
<p>The ninetieth or last course of the building having been laid
to-day, which brought the masonry to the height of one hundred
and two feet six inches, the lintel of the light-room door, being
the finishing-stone of the exterior walls, was laid with due
formality by the writer, who, at the same time, pronounced the
following benediction: “May the Great Architect of the
Universe, under whose blessing this perilous work has prospered,
preserve it as a guide to the mariner.”</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 3rd Aug.]</p>
<p>At three p.m., the necessary preparations having been made,
the artificers commenced the completing of the floors of the
several apartments, and at seven o’clock the centre-stone
of the light-room floor was laid, which may be held as finishing
the masonry of this important national edifice. After going
through the usual ceremonies observed by the brotherhood on
occasions of this kind, the writer, addressing himself to the
artificers and seamen who were present, briefly alluded to the
utility of the undertaking as a monument of the wealth of British
commerce, erected through the spirited measures of the
Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses by means of the able
assistance of those who now surrounded him. He then took an
opportunity of stating that toward those connected with this
arduous work he would ever retain the most heartfelt regard in
all their interests.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Saturday, 4th Aug.]</p>
<p>When the bell was rung as usual on the beacon this morning,
every one seemed as if he were at a loss what to make of
himself. At this period the artificers at the rock
consisted of eighteen masons, two joiners, one millwright, one
smith, and one mortar-maker, besides Messrs. Peter Logan and
Francis Watt, foremen, counting in all twenty-five; and matters
were arranged for proceeding to Arbroath this afternoon with all
hands. The <i>Sir Joseph Banks</i> tender had by this time
been afloat, with little intermission, for six months, during
greater part of which the artificers had been almost constantly
off at the rock, and were now much in want of necessaries of
almost every description. Not a few had lost different
articles of clothing, which had dropped into the sea from the
beacon and building. Some wanted jackets; others, from want
of hats, wore nightcaps; each was, in fact, more or less
curtailed in his wardrobe, and it must be confessed that at best
the party were but in a very tattered condition. This
morning was occupied in removing the artificers and their bedding
on board of the tender; and although their personal luggage was
easily shifted, the boats had, nevertheless, many articles to
remove from the beacon-house, and were consequently employed in
this service till eleven a.m. All hands being collected and
just ready to embark, as the water had nearly overflowed the
rock, the writer, in taking leave, after alluding to the harmony
which had ever marked the conduct of those employed on the Bell
Rock, took occasion to compliment the great zeal, attention, and
abilities of Mr. Peter Logan and Mr. Francis Watt, foremen;
Captain James Wilson, landing-master; and Captain David Taylor,
commander of the tender, who, in their several departments, had
so faithfully discharged the duties assigned to them, often under
circumstances the most difficult and trying. The health of
these gentlemen was drunk with much warmth of feeling by the
artificers and seamen, who severally expressed the satisfaction
they had experienced in acting under them; after which the whole
party left the rock.</p>
<p>In sailing past the floating light mutual compliments were
made by a display of flags between that vessel and the tender;
and at five p.m. the latter vessel entered the harbour of
Arbroath, where the party were heartily welcomed by a numerous
company of spectators, who had collected to see the artificers
arrive after so long an absence from the port. In the
evening the writer invited the foremen and captains of the
service, together with Mr. David Logan, clerk of works at
Arbroath, and Mr. Lachlan Kennedy, engineer’s clerk and
book-keeper, and some of their friends, to the principal inn,
where the evening was spent very happily; and after ‘His
Majesty’s Health’ and ‘The Commissioners of the
Northern Lighthouses’ had been given, ‘Stability to
the Bell Rock Lighthouse’ was hailed as a standing toast in
the Lighthouse service.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 5th Aug.]</p>
<p>The author has formerly noticed the uniformly decent and
orderly deportment of the artificers who were employed at the
Bell Rock Lighthouse, and to-day, it is believed, they very
generally attended church, no doubt with grateful hearts for the
narrow escapes from personal danger which all of them had more or
less experienced during their residence at the rock.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 14th Aug.]</p>
<p>The <i>Smeaton</i> sailed to-day at one p.m., having on board
sixteen artificers, with Mr. Peter Logan, together with a supply
of provisions and necessaries, who left the harbour pleased and
happy to find themselves once more afloat in the Bell Rock
service. At seven o’clock the tender was made fast to
her moorings, when the artificers landed on the rock and took
possession of their old quarters in the beacon-house, with
feelings very different from those of 1807, when the works
commenced.</p>
<p>The barometer for some days past had been falling from 29.90,
and to-day it was 29.50, with the wind at N.E., which, in the
course of this day, increased to a strong gale accompanied with a
sea which broke with great violence upon the rock. At
twelve noon the tender rode very heavily at her moorings, when
her chain broke at about ten fathoms from the ships bows. The
kedge-anchor was immediately let go, to hold her till the
floating buoy and broken chain should be got on board. But
while this was in operation the hawser of the kedge was chafed
through on the rocky bottom and parted, when the vessel was again
adrift. Most fortunately, however, she cast off with her
head from the rock, and narrowly cleared it, when she sailed up
the Firth of Forth to wait the return of better weather.
The artificers were thus left upon the rock with so heavy a sea
running that it was ascertained to have risen to a height of
eighty feet on the building. Under such perilous
circumstances it would be difficult to describe the feelings of
those who, at this time, were cooped up in the beacon in so
forlorn a situation, with the sea not only raging under them, but
occasionally falling from a great height upon the roof of their
temporary lodging, without even the attending vessel in view to
afford the least gleam of hope in the event of any
accident. It is true that they now had the masonry of the
lighthouse to resort to, which, no doubt, lessened the actual
danger of their situation; but the building was still without a
roof, and the deadlights, or storm-shutters, not being yet
fitted, the windows of the lower story were stove in and broken,
and at high-water the sea ran in considerable quantities out at
the entrance door.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 16th Aug.]</p>
<p>The gale continues with unabated violence to-day, and the
sprays rise to a still greater height, having been carried over
the masonry of the building, or about ninety feet above the level
of the sea. At four o’clock this morning it was
breaking into the cook’s berth, when he rang the
alarm-bell, and all hands turned out to attend to their personal
safety. The floor of the smith’s, or mortar gallery,
was now completely burst up by the force of the sea, when the
whole of the deals and the remaining articles upon the floor were
swept away, such as the cast-iron mortar-tubs, the iron hearth of
the forge, the smith’s bellows, and even his anvil were
thrown down upon the rock. Before the tide rose to its full
height to-day some of the artificers passed along the bridge into
the lighthouse, to observe the effects of the sea upon it, and
they reported that they had felt a slight tremulous motion in the
building when great seas struck it in a certain direction, about
high-water mark. On this occasion the sprays were again
observed to wet the balcony, and even to come over the parapet
wall into the interior of the light-room.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Thursday, 23rd Aug.]</p>
<p>The wind being at W.S.W., and the weather more moderate, both
the tender and the <i>Smeaton</i> got to their moorings on the
23rd, when all hands were employed in transporting the
sash-frames from on board of the <i>Smeaton</i> to the
rock. In the act of setting up one of these frames upon the
bridge, it was unguardedly suffered to lose its balance, and in
saving it from damage Captain Wilson met with a severe bruise in
the groin, on the seat of a gun-shot wound received in the early
part of his life. This accident laid him aside for several
days.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 27th Aug.]</p>
<p>The sash-frames of the light-room, eight in number, and
weighing each 254 pounds, having been got safely up to the top of
the building, were ranged on the balcony in the order in which
they were numbered for their places on the top of the
parapet-wall; and the balance-crane, that useful machine having
now lifted all the heavier articles, was unscrewed and lowered,
to use the landing-master’s phrase, ‘in mournful
silence.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 2nd Sept.]</p>
<p>The steps of the stair being landed, and all the weightier
articles of the light-room got up to the balcony, the wooden
bridge was now to be removed, as it had a very powerful effect
upon the beacon when a heavy sea struck it, and could not
possibly have withstood the storms of a winter. Everything
having been cleared from the bridge, and nothing left but the two
principal beams with their horizontal braces, James Glen, at
high-water, proceeded with a saw to cut through the beams at the
end next the beacon, which likewise disengaged their opposite
extremity, inserted a few inches into the building. The
frame was then gently lowered into the water, and floated off to
the <i>Smeaton</i> to be towed to Arbroath, to be applied as part
of the materials in the erection of the lightkeepers’
houses. After the removal of the bridge, the aspect of
things at the rock was much altered. The beacon-house and
building had both a naked look to those accustomed to their
former appearance; a curious optical deception was also remarked,
by which the lighthouse seemed to incline from the perpendicular
towards the beacon. The horizontal rope-ladder before
noticed was again stretched to preserve the communication, and
the artificers were once more obliged to practise the awkward and
straddling manner of their passage between them during 1809.</p>
<p>At twelve noon the bell rung for prayers, after which the
artificers went to dinner, when the writer passed along the
rope-ladder to the lighthouse, and went through the several
apartments, which were now cleared of lumber. In the
afternoon all hands were summoned to the interior of the house,
when he had the satisfaction of laying the upper step of the
stair, or last stone of the building. This ceremony
concluded with three cheers, the sound of which had a very loud
and strange effect within the walls of the lighthouse. At
six o’clock Mr. Peter Logan and eleven of the artificers
embarked with the writer for Arbroath, leaving Mr. James Glen
with the special charge of the beacon and railways, Mr. Robert
Selkirk with the building, with a few artificers to fit the
temporary windows to render the house habitable.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Sunday, 14th Oct.]</p>
<p>On returning from his voyage to the Northern Lighthouses, the
writer landed at the Bell Rock on Sunday, the 14th of October,
and had the pleasure to find, from the very favourable state of
the weather, that the artificers had been enabled to make great
progress with the fitting-up of the light-room.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Friday, 19th Oct.]</p>
<p>The light-room work had proceeded, as usual, to-day under the
direction of Mr. Dove, assisted in the plumber-work by Mr. John
Gibson, and in the brazier-work by Mr. Joseph Fraser; while Mr.
James Slight, with the joiners, were fitting up the
storm-shuttters of the windows. In these several
departments the artificers were at work till seven o’clock
p.m., and it being then dark, Mr. Dove gave orders to drop work
in the light-room; and all hands proceeded from thence to the
beacon-house, when Charles Henderson, smith, and Henry Dickson,
brazier, left the work together. Being both young men, who
had been for several weeks upon the rock, they had become
familiar, and even playful, on the most difficult parts about the
beacon and building. This evening they were trying to
outrun each other in descending from the light-room, when
Henderson led the way; but they were in conversation with each
other till they came to the rope-ladder distended between the
entrance-door of the lighthouse and the beacon. Dickson, on
reaching the cook-room, was surprised at not seeing his
companion, and inquired hastily for Henderson. Upon which
the cook replied, ‘Was he before you upon the
rope-ladder?’ Dickson answered, ‘Yes; and I
thought I heard something fall.’ Upon this the alarm
was given, and links were immediately lighted, with which the
artificers descended on the legs of the beacon, as near the
surface of the water as possible, it being then about full tide,
and the sea breaking to a considerable height upon the building,
with the wind at S.S.E. But, after watching till low-water,
and searching in every direction upon the rock, it appeared that
poor Henderson must have unfortunately fallen through the
rope-ladder, and been washed into the deep water.</p>
<p>The deceased had passed along this rope-ladder many hundred
times, both by day and night, and the operations in which he was
employed being nearly finished, he was about to leave the rock
when this melancholy catastrophe took place. The
unfortunate loss of Henderson cast a deep gloom upon the minds of
all who were at the rock, and it required some management on the
part of those who had charge to induce the people to remain
patiently at their work; as the weather now became more
boisterous, and the nights long, they found their habitation
extremely cheerless, while the winds were howling about their
ears, and the waves lashing with fury against the beams of their
insulated habitation.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 23rd Oct.]</p>
<p>The wind had shifted in the night to N.W., and blew a fresh
gale, while the sea broke with violence upon the rock. It
was found impossible to land, but the writer, from the boat,
hailed Mr. Dove, and directed the ball to be immediately
fixed. The necessary preparations were accordingly made,
while the vessel made short tacks on the southern side of the
rock, in comparatively smooth water. At noon Mr. Dove,
assisted by Mr. James Slight, Mr. Robert Selkirk, Mr. James Glen,
and Mr. John Gibson, plumber, with considerable difficulty, from
the boisterous state of the weather, got the gilded ball screwed
on, measuring two feet in diameter, and forming the principal
ventilator at the upper extremity of the cupola of the
light-room. At Mr. Hamilton’s desire, a salute of
seven guns was fired on this occasion, and, all hands being
called to the quarter-deck, ‘Stability to the Bell Rock
Lighthouse’ was not forgotten.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 30th Oct.]</p>
<p>On reaching the rock it was found that a very heavy sea still
ran upon it; but the writer having been disappointed on two
former occasions, and, as the erection of the house might now be
considered complete, there being nothing wanted externally,
excepting some of the storm-shutters for the defence of the
windows, he was the more anxious at this time to inspect
it. Two well-manned boats were therefore ordered to be in
attendance; and, after some difficulty, the wind being at N.N.E.,
they got safely into the western creek, though not without
encountering plentiful sprays. It would have been
impossible to have attempted a landing to-day, under any other
circumstances than with boats perfectly adapted to the purpose,
and with seamen who knew every ledge of the rock, and even the
length of the sea-weeds at each particular spot, so as to dip
their oars into the water accordingly, and thereby prevent them
from getting entangled. But what was of no less consequence
to the safety of the party, Captain Wilson, who always steered
the boat, had a perfect knowledge of the set of the different
waves, while the crew never shifted their eyes from observing his
motions, and the strictest silence was preserved by every
individual except himself.</p>
<p>On entering the house, the writer had the pleasure to find it
in a somewhat habitable condition, the lower apartments being
closed in with temporary windows, and fitted with proper
storm-shutters. The lowest apartment at the head of the
staircase was occupied with water, fuel, and provisions, put up
in a temporary way until the house could be furnished with proper
utensils. The second, or light-room store, was at present
much encumbered with various tools and apparatus for the use of
the workmen. The kitchen immediately over this had, as yet,
been supplied only with a common ship’s caboose and
plate-iron funnel, while the necessary cooking utensils had been
taken from the beacon. The bedroom was for the present used
as the joiners’ workshop, and the strangers’ room,
immediately under the light-room, was occupied by the artificers,
the beds being ranged in tiers, as was done in the barrack of the
beacon. The light-room, though unprovided with its
machinery, being now covered over with the cupola, glazed and
painted, had a very complete and cleanly appearance. The
balcony was only as yet fitted with a temporary rail, consisting
of a few iron stanchions, connected with ropes; and in this state
it was necessary to leave it during the winter.</p>
<p>Having gone over the whole of the low-water works on the rock,
the beacon, and lighthouse, and being satisfied that only the
most untoward accident in the landing of the machinery could
prevent the exhibition of the light in the course of the winter,
Mr. John Reid, formerly of the floating light, was now put in
charge of the lighthouse as principal keeper; Mr. James Slight
had charge of the operations of the artificers, while Mr. James
Dove and the smiths, having finished the frame of the light-room,
left the rock for the present. With these arrangements the
writer bade adieu to the works for the season. At eleven
a.m. the tide was far advanced; and there being now little or no
shelter for the boats at the rock, they had to be pulled through
the breach of sea, which came on board in great quantities, and
it was with extreme difficulty that they could be kept in the
proper direction of the landing-creek. On this occasion he
may be permitted to look back with gratitude on the many escapes
made in the course of this arduous undertaking, now brought so
near to a successful conclusion.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Monday, 5th Nov.]</p>
<p>On Monday, the 5th, the yacht again visited the rock, when Mr.
Slight and the artificers returned with her to the workyard,
where a number of things were still to prepare connected with the
temporary fitting up of the accommodation for the
lightkeepers. Mr. John Reid and Peter Fortune were now the
only inmates of the house. This was the smallest number of
persons hitherto left in the lighthouse. As four
lightkeepers were to be the complement, it was intended that
three should always be at the rock. Its present inmates,
however, could hardly have been better selected for such a
situation; Mr. Reid being a person possessed of the strictest
notions of duty and habits of regularity from long service on
board of a man-of-war, while Mr. Fortune had one of the most
happy and contented dispositions imaginable.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[Tuesday, 13th Nov.]</p>
<p>From Saturday the 10th till Tuesday the 13th, the wind had
been from N.E. blowing a heavy gale; but to-day, the weather
having greatly moderated, Captain Taylor, who now commanded the
<i>Smeaton</i>, sailed at two o’clock a.m. for the Bell
Rock. At five the floating light was hailed and found to be
all well. Being a fine moonlight morning, the seamen were
changed from the one ship to the other. At eight, the
<i>Smeaton</i> being off the rock, the boats were manned, and
taking a supply of water, fuel, and other necessaries, landed at
the western side, when Mr. Reid and Mr. Fortune were found in
good health and spirits.</p>
<p>Mr. Reid stated that during the late gales, particularly on
Friday, the 30th, the wind veering from S.E. to N.E., both he and
Mr. Fortune sensibly felt the house tremble when particular seas
struck, about the time of high-water; the former observing that
it was a tremor of that sort which rather tended to convince him
that everything about the building was sound, and reminded him of
the effect produced when a good log of timber is struck sharply
with a mallet; but, with every confidence in the stability of the
building, he nevertheless confessed that, in so forlorn a
situation, they were not insensible to those emotions which, he
emphatically observed, ‘made a man look back upon his
former life.’</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[1881 Friday, 1st Feb.]</p>
<p>The day, long wished for, on which the mariner was to see a
light exhibited on the Bell Rock at length arrived. Captain
Wilson, as usual, hoisted the float’s lanterns to the
topmast on the evening of the 1st of February; but the moment
that the light appeared on the rock, the crew, giving three
cheers, lowered them, and finally extinguished the lights.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<div class="gapmediumline"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center">Printed by <span
class="smcap">T.</span> and <span class="smcap">A.
Constable</span>, Printers to His Majesty<br />
at the Edinburgh University Press.</p>
<h2>Footnotes:</h2>
<p><a name="footnote2a"></a><a href="#citation2a"
class="footnote">[2a]</a> An error: Stevensons owned at
this date the barony of Dolphingston in Haddingtonshire,
Montgrennan in Ayrshire, and several other lesser places.</p>
<p><a name="footnote3a"></a><a href="#citation3a"
class="footnote">[3a]</a> Pitcairn’s <i>Criminal
Trials</i>, at large.—[R. L. S.]</p>
<p><a name="footnote4a"></a><a href="#citation4a"
class="footnote">[4a]</a> Fountainhall’s
<i>Decisions</i>, vol. i. pp. 56, 132, 186, 204, 368.—[R.
L. S.]</p>
<p><a name="footnote4b"></a><a href="#citation4b"
class="footnote">[4b]</a> <i>Ibid.</i> pp. 158,
299.—[R. L. S.]</p>
<p><a name="footnote4c"></a><a href="#citation4c"
class="footnote">[4c]</a> Working farmer: Fr.
<i>laboureur</i>.</p>
<p><a name="footnote7a"></a><a href="#citation7a"
class="footnote">[7a]</a> This John Stevenson was not the
only ‘witness’ of the name; other Stevensons were
actually killed during the persecutions, in the Glen of Trool, on
Pentland, etc.; and it is very possible that the author’s
own ancestor was one of the mounted party embodied by Muir of
Caldwell, only a day too late for Pentland.</p>
<p><a name="footnote7b"></a><a href="#citation7b"
class="footnote">[7b]</a> Wodrow Society’s <i>Select
Biographies</i>, vol. ii.—[R. L. S.]</p>
<p><a name="footnote9a"></a><a href="#citation9a"
class="footnote">[9a]</a> Though the districts here named
are those in which the name of Stevenson is most common, it is in
point of fact far more wide-spread than the text indicates, and
occurs from Dumfries and Berwickshire to Aberdeen and Orkney.</p>
<p><a name="footnote12a"></a><a href="#citation12a"
class="footnote">[12a]</a> Mr. J. H. Stevenson is satisfied
that these speculations as to a possible Norse, Highland, or
French origin are vain. All we know about the engineer
family is that it was sprung from a stock of Westland Whigs
settled in the latter part of the seventeenth century in the
parish of Neilston, as mentioned at the beginning of the next
chapter. It may be noted that the Ayrshire parish of
Stevenston, the lands of which are said to have received the name
in the twelfth century, lies within thirteen miles south-west of
this place. The lands of Stevenson in Lanarkshire first
mentioned in the next century, in the Ragman Roll, lie within
twenty miles east.</p>
<p><a name="footnote54a"></a><a href="#citation54a"
class="footnote">[54a]</a> This is only a probable
hypothesis; I have tried to identify my father’s anecdote
in my grandfather’s diary, and may very well have been
deceived.—[R. L. S.]</p>
<p><a name="footnote91a"></a><a href="#citation91a"
class="footnote">[91a]</a> This is, of course, the
tradition commemorated by Southey in his ballad of ‘The
Inchcape Bell.’ Whether true or not, it points to the
fact that from the infancy of Scottish navigation, the seafaring
mind had been fully alive to the perils of this reef.
Repeated attempts had been made to mark the place with beacons,
but all efforts were unavailing (one such beacon having been
carried away within eight days of its erection) until Robert
Stevenson conceived and carried out the idea of the stone
tower. But the number of vessels actually lost upon the
reef was as nothing to those that were cast away in fruitless
efforts to avoid it. Placed right in the fairway of two
navigations, and one of these the entrance to the only harbour of
refuge between the Downs and the Moray Firth, it breathed abroad
along the whole coast an atmosphere of terror and perplexity; and
no ship sailed that part of the North Sea at night, but what the
ears of those on board would be strained to catch the roaring of
the seas on the Bell Rock.</p>
<p><a name="footnote92a"></a><a href="#citation92a"
class="footnote">[92a]</a> The particular event which
concentrated Mr. Stevenson’s attention on the problem of
the Bell Rock was the memorable gale of December 1799, when,
among many other vessels, H.M.S. <i>York</i>, a seventy-four-gun
ship, went down with all hands on board. Shortly after this
disaster Mr. Stevenson made a careful survey, and prepared his
models for a stone tower, the idea of which was at first received
with pretty general scepticism, Smeaton’s Eddystone tower
could not be cited as affording a parallel, for there the rock is
not submerged even at high-water, while the problem of the Bell
Rock was to build a tower of masonry on a sunken reef far distant
from land, covered at every tide to a depth of twelve feet or
more, and having thirty-two fathoms’ depth of water within
a mile of its eastern edge.</p>
<p><a name="footnote94a"></a><a href="#citation94a"
class="footnote">[94a]</a> The grounds for the rejection of
the Bill by the House of Lords in 1802–3 had been that the
extent of coast over which dues were proposed to be levied would
be too great. Before going to Parliament again, the Board
of Northern Lights, desiring to obtain support and corroboration
for Mr. Stevenson’s views, consulted first Telford, who was
unable to give the matter his attention, and then (on
Stevenson’s suggestion) Rennie, who concurred in affirming
the practicability of a stone tower, and supported the Bill when
it came again before Parliament in 1806. Rennie was
afterwards appointed by the Commissioners as advising engineer,
whom Stevenson might consult in cases of emergency. It
seems certain that the title of chief engineer had in this
instance no more meaning than the above. Rennie, in point
of fact, proposed certain modifications in Stevenson’s
plans, which the latter did not accept; nevertheless Rennie
continued to take a kindly interest in the work, and the two
engineers remained in friendly correspondence during its
progress. The official view taken by the Board as to the
quarter in which lay both the merit and the responsibility of the
work may be gathered from a minute of the Commissioners at their
first meeting held after Stevenson died; in which they record
their regret ‘at the death of this zealous, faithful, and
able officer, <i>to whom is due the honour of conceiving and
executing the Bell Rock Lighthouse</i>.’ The matter
is briefly summed up in the <i>Life</i> of Robert Stevenson by
his son David Stevenson (A. & C. Black, 1878), and fully
discussed, on the basis of official facts and figures, by the
same writer in a letter to the <i>Civil Engineers’ and
Architects’ Journal</i>, 1862.</p>
<p><a name="footnote122a"></a><a href="#citation122a"
class="footnote">[122a]</a> ‘Nothing was said, but I
was <i>looked out of countenance</i>,’ he says in a
letter.</p>
<p><a name="footnote171a"></a><a href="#citation171a"
class="footnote">[171a]</a>
Ill-formed—ugly.—[R. L. S.]</p>
<p><a name="footnote174a"></a><a href="#citation174a"
class="footnote">[174a]</a> This is an incurable illusion
of my grandfather’s; he always writes
‘distended’ for ‘extended.’—[R. L.
S.]</p>
<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RECORDS OF A FAMILY OF ENGINEERS***</p>
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