The Lighthouse
The sounds, too, which on the rock itself were harsh and loud and varied, came over the water to the distant observer in a united tone, which sounded almost as sweet as soft music.
The smith’s forge stood on a ledge of rock close to the foundation-pit, a little to the north of it. Here Vulcan Dove had fixed a strong iron framework, which formed the hearth. The four legs which supported it were let into holes bored from six to twelve inches into the rock, according to the inequalities of the site. These were wedged first with wood and then with iron, for as this part of the forge and the anvil was doomed to be drowned every tide, or twice every day, besides being exposed to the fury of all the storms that might chance to blow, it behoved them to fix things down with unusual firmness.
The block of timber for supporting the anvil was fixed in the same manner, but the anvil itself was left to depend on its own weight and the small stud fitted into the bottom of it.
The bellows, however, were too delicate to be left exposed to such forces as the stormy winds and waves, they were therefore shipped and unshipped every tide, and conveyed to and from the rock in the boats with the men.
Dove and Ruby wrought together like heroes. They were both so powerful that the heavy implements they wielded seemed to possess no weight when in their strong hands, and their bodies were so lithe and active as to give the impression of men rejoicing, revelling, in the enjoyment of their work.
“That’s your sort; hit him hard, he’s got no friends,” said Dove, turning a mass of red-hot metal from side to side, while Ruby pounded it with a mighty hammer, as if it were a piece of putty.
“Fire and steel for ever,” observed Ruby, as he made the sparks fly right and left. “Hallo! the tide’s rising.”
“Ho! so it is,” cried the smith, finishing off the piece of work with a small hammer, while Ruby rested on the one he had used and wiped the perspiration from his brow. “It always serves me in this way, lad,” continued the smith, without pausing for a moment in his work. “Blow away, Ruby, the sea is my greatest enemy. Every day, a’most, it washes me away from my work. In calm weather, it creeps up my legs, and the legs o’ the forge too, till it gradually puts out the fire, and in rough weather it sends up a wave sometimes that sweeps the whole concern black out at one shot.”
“It will creep you out to-day, evidently,” said Ruby, as the water began to come about his toes.
“Never mind, lad, we’ll have time to finish them picks this tide, if we work fast.”
Thus they toiled and moiled, with their heads and shoulders in smoke and fire, and their feet in water.
Gradually the tide rose.
“Pump away, Ruby! Keep the pot bilin’, my boy,” said the smith.
“The wind blowin’, you mean. I say, Dove, do the other men like the work here?”
“Like it, ay, they like it well. At fist we were somewhat afraid o’ the landin’ in rough weather, but we’ve got used to that now. The only bad thing about it is in the rolling o’ that horrible Pharos. She’s so bad in a gale that I sometimes think she’ll roll right over like a cask. Most of us get sick then, but I don’t think any of ’em are as bad as me. They seem to be gettin’ used to that too. I wish I could. Another blow, Ruby.”
“Time’s up,” shouted one of the men.
“Hold on just for a minute or two,” pleaded the smith, who, with his assistant, was by this time standing nearly knee-deep in water.
The sea had filled the pit some time before, and driven the men out of it. These busied themselves in collecting the tools and seeing that nothing was left lying about, while the men who were engaged on those parts of the rocks that were a few inches higher, continued their labours until the water crept up to them. Then they collected their tools, and went to the boats, which lay awaiting them at the western landing-place.
“Now, Dove,” cried the landing-master, “come along; the crabs will be attacking your toes if you don’t.”
“It’s a shame to gi’e Ruby the chance o’ a sair throat the very first day,” cried John Watt.
“Just half a minute more,” said the smith, examining a pickaxe, which he was getting up to that delicate point of heat which is requisite to give it proper temper.
While he gazed earnestly into the glowing coals a gentle hissing sound was heard below the frame of the forge, then a gurgle, and the fire became suddenly dark and went out!
“I knowed it! always the way!” cried Dove, with a look of disappointment. “Come, lad, up with the bellows now, and don’t forget the tongs.”
In a few minutes more the boats pushed off and returned to the Pharos, three and a half hours of good work having been accomplished before the tide drove them away.
Soon afterwards the sea overflowed the whole of the rock, and obliterated the scene of those busy operations as completely as though it had never been!
Chapter Nine
Storms and Troubles
A week of fine weather caused Ruby Brand to fall as deeply in love with the work at the Bell Rock as his comrades had done.
There was an amount of vigour and excitement about it, with a dash of romance, which quite harmonised with his character. At first he had imagined it would be monotonous and dull, but in experience he found it to be quite the reverse.
Although there was uniformity in the general character of the work, there was constant variety in many of the details; and the spot on which it was carried on was so circumscribed, and so utterly cut off from all the world, that the minds of those employed became concentrated on it in a way that aroused strong interest in every trifling object.
There was not a ledge or a point of rock that rose ever so little above the general level, that was not named after, and intimately associated with, some event or individual. Every mass of seaweed became a familiar object. The various little pools and inlets, many of them not larger than a dining-room table, received high-sounding and dignified names—such as Port Stevenson, Port Erskine, Taylor’s Track, Neill’s Pool, etcetera. Of course the fish that frequented the pools, and the shell-fish that covered the rock, became subjects of much attention, and, in some cases, of earnest study.
Robinson Crusoe himself did not pry into the secrets of his island-home with half the amount of assiduity that was displayed at this time by many of the men who built the Bell Rock Lighthouse. The very fact that their time was limited acted as a spur, so that on landing each tide they rushed hastily to the work, and the amateur studies in natural history to which we have referred were prosecuted hurriedly during brief intervals of rest. Afterwards, when the beacon house was erected, and the men dwelt upon the rock, these studies (if we may not call them amusements) were continued more leisurely, but with unabated ardour, and furnished no small amount of comparatively thrilling incident at times.
One fine morning, just after the men had landed, and before they had commenced work, “Long Forsyth”, as his comrades styled him, went to a pool to gather a little dulse, of which there was a great deal on the rock, and which was found to be exceedingly grateful to the palates of those who were afflicted with sea-sickness.
He stooped over the pool to pluck a morsel, but paused on observing a beautiful fish, about a foot long, swimming in the clear water, as quietly as if it knew the man to be a friend, and were not in the least degree afraid of him.
Forsyth was an excitable man, and also studious in his character. He at once became agitated and desirous of possessing that fish, for it was extremely brilliant and variegated in colour. He looked round for something to throw at it, but there was nothing within reach. He sighed for a hook and line, but as sighs never yet produced hooks or lines he did not get one.
Just then the fish swam slowly to the side of the pool on which the man kneeled, as if it actually desired more intimate acquaintance. Forsyth lay flat down and reached out his hand toward it; but it appeared to think this rather too familiar, for it swam slowly beyond his reach, and the man drew back. Again it came to the side, much nearer. Once more Forsyth lay down, reaching over the pool as far as he could, and insinuating his hand into the water. But the fish moved off a little.
Thus they coquetted with each other for some time, until the man’s comrades began to observe that he was “after something.”
“Wot’s he a-doin’ of?” said one.
“Reachin’ over the pool, I think,” replied another.
“Ye don’t mean he’s sick?” cried a third.
The smile with which this was received was changed into a roar of laughter as poor Forsyth’s long legs were seen to tip up into the air, and the whole man to disappear beneath the water. He had overbalanced himself in his frantic efforts to reach the fish, and was now making its acquaintance in its native element!
The pool, although small in extent, was so deep that Forsyth, long though he was, did not find bottom. Moreover, he could not swim, so that when he reached the surface he came up with his hands first and his ten fingers spread out helplessly; next appeared his shaggy head, with the eyes wide open, and the mouth tight shut. The moment the latter was uncovered, however, he uttered a tremendous yell, which was choked in the bud with a gurgle as he sank again.
The men rushed to the rescue at once, and the next time Forsyth rose he was seized by the hair of the head and dragged out of the pool.
It has not been recorded what became of the fish that caused such an alarming accident, but we may reasonably conclude that it sought refuge in the ocean cavelets at the bottom of that miniature sea, for Long Forsyth was so very large, and created such a terrible disturbance therein, that no fish exposed to the full violence of the storm could have survived it!
“Wot a hobject!” exclaimed Joe Dumsby, a short, thickset, little Englishman, who, having been born and partly bred in London, was rather addicted to what is styled chaffing. “Was you arter a mermaid, shipmate?”
“Av coorse he was,” observed Ned O’Connor, an Irishman, who was afflicted with the belief that he was rather a witty fellow, “av coorse he was, an’ a merry-maid she must have bin to see a human spider like him kickin’ up such a dust in the say.”
“He’s like a drooned rotten,” observed John Watt; “tak’ aff yer claes, man, an’ wring them dry.”
“Let the poor fellow be, and get along with you,” cried Peter Logan, the foreman of the works, who came up at that moment.
With a few parting remarks and cautions, such as,—“You’d better bring a dry suit to the rock next time, lad,” “Take care the crabs don’t make off with you, boy,” “and don’t be gettin’ too fond o’ the girls in the sea,” etcetera, the men scattered themselves over the rock and began their work in earnest, while Forsyth, who took the chaffing in good part, stripped himself and wrung the water out of his garments.
Episodes of this kind were not unfrequent, and they usually furnished food for conversation at the time, and for frequent allusion afterwards.
But it was not all sunshine and play, by any means.
Not long after Ruby joined, the fine weather broke up, and a succession of stiff breezes, with occasional storms, more or lees violent, set in. Landing on the rock became a matter of extreme difficulty, and the short period of work was often curtailed to little more than an hour each tide.
The rolling of the Pharos lightship, too, became so great that sea-sickness prevailed to a large extent among the landsmen. One good arose out of this evil, however. Landing on the Bell Rock invariably cured the sickness for a time, and the sea-sick men had such an intense longing to eat of the dulse that grew there, that they were always ready and anxious to get into the boats when there was the slightest possibility of landing.
Getting into the boats, by the way, in a heavy sea, when the lightship was rolling violently, was no easy matter. When the fine weather first broke up, it happened about midnight, and the change commenced with a stiff breeze from the eastward. The sea rose at once, and, long before daybreak, the Pharos was rolling heavily in the swell, and straining violently at the strong cable which held her to her moorings.
About dawn Mr Stevenson came on deck. He could not sleep, because he felt that on his shoulders rested not only the responsibility of carrying this gigantic work to a satisfactory conclusion, but also, to a large extent, the responsibility of watching over and guarding the lives of the people employed in the service.
“Shall we be able to land to-day, Mr Wilson?” he said, accosting the master of the Pharos, who has been already introduced as the landing-master.
“I think so; the barometer has not fallen much; and even although the wind should increase a little, we can effect a landing by the Fair Way, at Hope’s Wharf.”
“Very well, I leave it entirely in your hands; you understand the weather better than I do, but remember that I do not wish my men to run unnecessary or foolish risk.”
It may be as well to mention here that a small but exceedingly strong tramway of iron-grating had been fixed to the Bell Rock at an elevation varying from two to four feet above it, and encircling the site of the building. This tramway or railroad was narrow, not quite three feet in width; and small trucks were fitted to it, so that the heavy stones of the building might be easily run to the exact spot they were to occupy. From this circular rail several branch lines extended to the different creeks where the boats deposited the stones. These lines, although only a few yards in length, were dignified with names—as, Kennedy’s Reach, Logan’s Reach, Watt’s Reach, and Slight’s Reach. The ends of them, where they dipped into the sea, were named Hope’s Wharf, Duff’s Wharf, Rae’s Wharf, etcetera; and these wharves had been fixed on different sides of the rock, so that, whatever wind should blow, there would always be one of them on the lee-side available for the carrying on of the work.
Hope’s Wharf was connected with Port Erskine, a pool about twenty yards long by three or four wide, and communicated with the side of the lighthouse by Watt’s Reach, a distance of about thirty yards.
About eight o’clock that morning the bell rang for breakfast. Such of the men as were not already up began to get out of their berths and hammocks.
To Ruby the scene that followed was very amusing. Hitherto all had been calm and sunshine. The work, although severe while they were engaged, had been of short duration, and the greater part of each day had been afterwards spent in light work, or in amusement. The summons to meals had always been a joyful one, and the appetites of the men were keenly set.
Now, all this was changed. The ruddy faces of the men were become green, blue, yellow, and purple, according to temperament, but few were flesh-coloured or red. When the bell rang there was a universal groan below, and half a dozen ghostlike individuals raised themselves on their elbows and looked up with expressions of the deepest woe at the dim skylight. Most of them speedily fell back again, however, partly owing to a heavy lurch of the vessel, and partly owing to indescribable sensations within.
“Blowin’!” groaned one, as if that single word comprehended the essence of all the miseries that seafaring man is heir to.
“O dear!” sighed another, “why did I ever come here?”
“Och! murder, I’m dyin’, send for the praist an’ me mother!” cried O’Connor, as he fell flat down on his back and pressed both hands tightly over his mouth.
The poor blacksmith lost control over himself at this point and—found partial relief!
The act tended to relieve others. Most of the men were much too miserable to make any remark at all, a few of them had not heart even to groan; but five or six sat up on the edge of their beds, with a weak intention of turning out. They sat there swaying about with the motions of the ship in helpless indecision, until a tremendous roll sent them flying, with unexpected violence, against the starboard bulkheads.
“Come, lads,” cried Ruby, leaping out of his hammock, “there’s nothing like a vigorous jump to put sea-sickness to flight.”
“Humbug!” ejaculated Bremner, who owned a little black dog, which lay at that time on the pillow gazing into his master’s green face, with wondering sympathy.
“Ah, Ruby,” groaned the smith, “it’s all very well for a sea-dog like you that’s used to it, but—”
James Dove stopped short abruptly. It is not necessary to explain the cause of his abrupt silence. Suffice it to say that he did not thereafter attempt to finish that sentence.
“Steward!” roared Joe Dumsby.
“Ay, ay, shipmate, what’s up?” cried the steward, who chanced to pass the door of the men’s sleeping-place, with a large dish of boiled salt pork, at the moment.
“Wot’s up?” echoed Dumsby. “Everythink that ever went into me since I was a hinfant must be ‘up’ by this time. I say, is there any chance of gettin’ on the rock to-day?”
“O yes. I heard the cap’n say it would be quite easy, and they seem to be makin’ ready now, so if any of ’ee want breakfast you’d better turn out.”
This speech acted like a shock of electricity on the wretched men. In a moment every bed was empty, and the place was in a bustle of confusion as they hurriedly threw on their clothes.
Some of them even began to think of the possibility of venturing on a hard biscuit and a cup of tea, but a gust of wind sent the fumes of the salt pork into the cabin at the moment, and the mere idea of food filled them with unutterable loathing.
Presently the bell rang again. This was the signal for the men to muster, the boats being ready alongside. The whole crew at once rushed on deck, some of them thrusting biscuits into their pockets as they passed the steward’s quarters. Not a man was absent on the roll being called. Even the smith crawled on deck, and had spirit enough left to advise Ruby not to forget the bellows; to which Ruby replied by recommending his comrade not to forget the matches.
Then the operation of embarking began.
The sea at the time was running pretty high, with little white flecks of foam tipping the crests of the deep blue waves. The eastern sky was dark and threatening. The black ridges of the Bell Rock were visible only at times in the midst of the sea of foam that surrounded them. Anyone ignorant of their nature would have deemed a landing absolutely impossible.
The Pharos, as we have said, was rolling violently from side to side, insomuch that those who were in the boats had the greatest difficulty in preventing them from being stove in; and getting into these boats had much the appearance of an exceedingly difficult and dangerous feat, which active and reckless men might undertake for a wager.
But custom reconciles one to almost anything. Most of the men had had sufficient experience by that time to embark with comparative ease. Nevertheless, there were a few whose physical conformation was such that they could do nothing neatly.
Poor Forsyth was one of these. Each man had to stand on the edge of the lightship, outside the bulwarks, holding on to a rope, ready to let go and drop into the boat when it rose up and met the vessel’s roll. In order to facilitate the operation a boat went to either side of the ship, so that two men were always in the act of watching for an opportunity to spring. The active men usually got in at the first or second attempt, but others missed frequently, and were of course “chaffed” by their more fortunate comrades.
The embarking of “Long Forsyth” was always a scene in rough weather, and many a narrow escape had he of a ducking. On the present occasion, being very sick, he was more awkward than usual.
“Now, Longlegs,” cried the men who held the boat on the starboard side, as Forsyth got over the side and stood ready to spring, “let’s see how good you’ll be to-day.”
He was observed by Joe Dumsby, who had just succeeded in getting into the boat on the port side of the ship, and who always took a lively interest in his tall comrade’s proceedings.
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1
It may be found, however, in minute detail, in the large and interesting work entitled Stevenson’s Bell Rock Lighthouse.
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